Pox It

A plague on pockets

Pox it! Pox on it all!
I care not what he hides 
Beneath his jeans 
Next to his thighs.
Put his hand there
Or pull it out.
He hides his money there.
Maybe his time?
Pocket, pffft, whatever;
I know it’s all a lie. 

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This is for a dVerse prompt: Pen us a poem of exactly 44 words (not counting the title), and be sure to include some form of the word pocket. No need for rhyme, or rhythm, or even reason – unless you choose it. Hope you enjoy! 😊

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I got a little carried away with my original poem and forgot it was a quadrille. 😳😂 So, if you’d like a peak at the inspiration for the above quadrille read it below.

Pox it! Pox on it all!
I care not what he hides 
Beneath his jeans 
Next to his thighs.
Put his hand there
Or pull it out.
Pox it! I shout.
He says he’s cold
So his hand he hides.
Wear gloves, say I.
He hides his money there.
Or maybe his time?
Pox it, pffft, whatever;
I know it’s a lie. 
Who would need some small space
Upon their clothes,
If not for something 
To keep from wondering eyes?
You don’t see her with some extra space
On her dress or upon her waist.
A proper bag or she goes without.
Just as should be.
Without a doubt. 
So pox it. And a pox it within a pox it.
Never shall a pocket darken the clothes I design
Nor will it ever, from any designer of my line.