Hold Up

When I first found you hanging on the wall at the second-hand store I knew we would work. Your smooth, black leather was devoid of loud patterns and the slim, dull brass buckle that held your ends together did its job without drawing attention to the delicate region directly above my crotch. But now, after years of abuse and repair our run is nearing its end. And unfortunately it is you, not me. Your holes have stretched too long and are no longer snug with the prong. I went to collect my clothes from the Laundromat and only discovered you hanging open and lazy against my thighs as I left. The couple who run the place have been uncomfortably friendly with me ever since.

But your untimely swan song was the afternoon I started the new volunteer job. A job that involves working with children. Children. Thankfully I caught your last act of negligence seconds before entering the building and immediately having the police called on me. Just consider this a necessary retirement. You’ve supported me for so long, let me support you in old age. I can use you to hold that one broken chair together or something.

Portrait by Andrea Taylor for #POBEshow 2014