The Plight of an Inevitable Metaphor

Let’s say that she is a Button. Only because She allows the world to whip Her. And as A button she is in a Pocket and the fabric keeps rubbing Against the hairs on a man’s leg and The endless scritch of pocket and hair Seduces her. I saw the man walking with his red plastic Cup and sure as hell the button was In his pocket. I could tell he liked keeping her there, And telling everyone, “You just never know.” I pity the contents of the pocket and Know that There is more than the button Down inside. There is a needle And thread. And the button. Because you never know, right? Needle. Thread. And button. I’ll stitch it somewhere, just in case. Stitch it where it hurts.