Impromptu Ode to Cardigan Sweaters

Two decades wearing cardigans,
and I have never once believed them to be fashionable.
Not only because no trend lasts that long,
but because fashion and I are like oil and... dark matter:
If there is a relationship, nobody quite gets it yet.
Who needs them to be fashionable,
as long at they're thick enough
and have good pockets?
They will keep the chill off,
veil the inevitable plumber's crack
and button up in moments to conceal spots of wayward ketchup.

Practical for New England weather,
my cardigans are as much my uniform
as flannel on a lumberjack
or sun hats on elderly nudists.
The pockets ensure I've always got a place to put my hands
in awkward social settings
so I don't fidget while avoiding eye contact.
The fact that I'm wearing a cardigan labels me as an introvert
Like a press pass for wallflowers.
Everyone knows I'm supposed to be there
but they only have talk to me if they feel like it.

Perfect for all seasons,
I leave them open in warm weather
and buttoned when it's cool.
I never worry about static hair
pulling them off over my head.
They're better than a jacket,
despite the similarities.
When it's cold, you can throw a coat on top of a sweater
and not look completely stupid.

Labeling me as sensitive and sedentary,
my mid-life security blankets are worn.
My isolation in their embrace,
they embolden me to be a little more of who I'm not,
and on occasion,
to like it.