Stephen Robertson

Slanting Lines

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

Shapeless, navy blue or fawn,

three-quarter length, or maybe short,

patch pockets (useless for cold hands),

thick felted wool, a monk-like hood—

and with (the most important thing)

those wooden toggles, loops of string.

I must confess to having owned

long long ago, that icon of

a time and maybe social group

—and then, when that one died, one more.

Where have all the duffles gone?

Anoraks now, every one.