The Legendary Coat That Refused to Retire

I own a coat, not merely cloth,

But something closer to a myth.

It’s not just worn—it has been through things,

Survived the cold, endured my thrift.

This coat has seen more winters pass

Than calendars care to admit,

It’s older than some friendships are,

Yet still insists it’s “perfect fit.”

The buttons wobble, one is gone,

Another clings with hopeful thread,

Each time I walk, they softly plead,

“Please don’t sneeze, we’re barely held.”

The zipper? Oh, the zipper’s wild.

It jams with drama, snaps with pride,

Sometimes it moves, sometimes it won’t,

Depending on the moon’s own tide.

I pull it up—it stops midway,

I tug again—it laughs at me,

The coat and I engage in war

Observed by strangers silently.

Its pockets are a mystery box,

A place where logic dares not roam,

I once found coins from ancient years,

And snacks I thought I’d eaten home.

Receipts from shops that no longer exist,

A glove that lost its other half,

Three buttons (none from this same coat),

And one old joke that made me laugh.

This coat has moods—it truly does.

On windy days it flaps and sings,

On rainy days it smells like storms

And questionable life choices.

When dry, it’s stiff and proud and bold,

When wet, it clings like needy glue,

It hugs me close as if to say,

“You made this rain happen, not you?”

Fashion-wise, it’s hard to place.

Not modern, vintage, nor antique,

It lives in “What is that?” terrain,

A style that screams but doesn’t speak.

Friends say, “You still wear that coat?”

As if it personally offended them.

I nod with pride and say, “Of course.”

This coat and I—we go way back, my friend.

It’s been to weddings (bad idea),

Funerals (equally wrong),

Grocery stores at midnight hours,

And arguments it didn’t belong.

It has absorbed my awkward phases,

My hopeful days, my lazy fits,

It knows my posture when I’m cold,

My walk when confidence quits.

The sleeves are slightly different lengths,

A choice? A flaw? We’ll never know.

One wrist sees sunlight sooner than the other,

A fashionable asymmetrical show.

The collar once stood tall and proud,

Now droops like it’s seen too much truth,

It’s given up on being crisp

And chosen comfort in its youth.

Lint lives there now, like rent-free guests,

Dog hair from pets I never owned,

Fibers from scarves I barely wore,

Evidence of lives unknown.

I swear this coat has memory.

It creaks in places when I bend,

As if it’s sighing, “Here we go,”

Prepared for knees that won’t extend.

In mirrors, it looks fine—confident.

In photos? A whole different tale.

It bulges where it shouldn’t dare,

A puffed-up potato with ambition and scale.

The weather app may lie to me,

But this coat never plays it straight.

If I wear it, the sun comes out.

If I don’t? A blizzard waits.

It smells faintly of coffee spills,

Cold air, rain, and street-side fries,

A scent no candle dares recreate,

A perfume called “Surprise.”

Dry cleaners fear it—yes, they do.

They glance, they sigh, they shake their heads.

“This coat has lived,” their eyes all say,

“We’ll try our best, but… thoughts and prayers.”

Yet despite the jokes, the laughs, the flaws,

This coat remains my loyal shield.

It blocks the wind, it fights the cold,

It never asks how much I yield.

It doesn’t judge my outfit sins,

My mismatched socks, my tired face,

It wraps around my awkward days

And calls them warmth, not disgrace.

New coats hang pretty in the store,

Sleek, untouched, and full of pride,

But none of them have faced the storms

That this old coat and I survived.

So laugh if you must, mock its seams,

Point out the tear I taped with grace,

This coat has earned each wrinkle proud,

Each coffee stain, each weathered place.

One day, perhaps, I’ll say goodbye,

Fold it gently, thank it so,

But knowing me—and knowing coats—

That day is very far, you know.

Until then, we march through winters still,

Two legends stitched in worn-out thread,

Me with my plans, it with its scars,

Refusing warmth to ever end.

For this is not just any coat—

It’s comfort, comedy, and proof

That loyalty can be unfashionable

And still remain absolutely bulletproof.