Beat up winter coat,
A gift,
People say always wear your best to an interview,
All I have is my best,
If I’m described as one beat up old winter coat,
One mitten in a pair of socks,
I mean that is all you see,
At least that’s better than just being a credit score,
if today is the end of my life,
And you were rooting through my home,
Like my sister’s rooted to my mom’s and mine and we were still alive,
Or Jean Huffey’s children who would not help her remain in her home but stuck her in a nursing home at 90,
Divided her stuff up like she was insignificant and dead,
Decided to keep the things of 25 years that I had given to their mother and give me back a box of books,
Two things you were blind and stupid,
Jean was many things, is many things,
Old doesn’t describe Jean anymore than describes me,
If you dug through my belongings you would also find three pairs of pants,
Furry best friends twenty totes of books,
One Will name of Executor Craig Ryan Mathis my youngest nephew,
That this lesbian Butch has never been her clothes,
That Val Whitewolf,
Poet/Author poor in monitory value,
Wealthy in spirit valued you if you were my friend more than me are things,
For myself today I have to go outside and shovel down my steps and shovel off my car in one mitten and a plastic bag,
Val Whitewolf 