Dirty, Sticky Jeans

Dirty Sticky Jeans: by Kelly Richardson

The deep blue color,
of my fitted lovely jean

Was dimmed by the grossness,
of sticky icky ice cream

It was terrible and sick,
It was very hard to bare

As I sat at the basketball game
With a sadned deep stare.

How could this happen,
Would the stain come out?

How would I go on
I started to pout.

As I thought of the people,
That would most definitely stare

At my skanky dirty jeans,
And there noticable wear and tear.

I couldn't help but think back,
To the times of the past

When I used to wear clean jeans
And I used to run fast.

I know that running fast,
Doesn't really fit this story

I had to throw it in though,
In all its greatness and glory

But back to the jeans,
That were most definitely sticky,

Would they ever be clean again,
Would they ever not be icky?

I thought of my washing machine
And what I could do.

Then I remembered I don't every do laundry, This is very sad but very very true!

Then I remembered I had a friend,
Her friendship isn't fickle or tricky

Thank you my friend Megan,
For loving me even when my jeans are sticky!