The Jean Scheme Poem by Ronni ManoaHofbauer

Some like 'em skinny, tight as can be,
Wrestling them on while hopping like a bee.
'Are they painted? ' grandma likes to ask,
'Getting those off must be quite a task! '

Then there's the ripped ones, holes everywhere,
Making parents worldwide pull out their hair.
'You paid extra for less fabric? ' they cry,
While fashion folks just heave a knowing sigh.

Wide-legged beauties, swooshing down the street,
Like denim bells from hip down to feet.
'Are you hiding sailboats in there? ' they jest,
As I swish past, feeling my best.

Mom-jeans rising high above the waist,
Some call it vintage, others call it waste.
But comfort rules and fashion comes and goes,
While I rock whatever denim flows.

Raw denim lovers talk of special wash,
'Don't clean for months! ' (Oh my, how posh!)
While others bleach and stone-wash with pride,
In this great jean debate, I'll let it slide.

For skinny, baggy, ripped or plain,
These cotton warriors take the strain.
Some may judge, some may complain,
But I'll wear my jeans through sunshine and rain!