Stuck

I am stuck
In this crusty white T-shirt.
The seams are
worn,
stretched and brown.
I can draw a road map
on stains from
years ago.

This collar is ragged
stretched like a taffy
of a warm childhood memory.

It still fits
somehow.
Nestled to my shapely body.
Showing me warmth
while the seasons wither away.

My bodily protector will outlast
all of the world's nations.
This slab of fabric will prevail,
coupling me in its sleeves of plush.

But it is just a T-shirt.
Some ragged piece of cloth--
A smelly flag of futility--
A covering
so tattered and worn.
Keeping me very
lukewarm.