Two-Pocket Blues

Someone ... I've forgotten who ... once said, in effect, that work expands to fill the time available to it. I had a boss who was fond of quoting that.

I was never fully convinced of its being a universal truth.
There were examples, of course, all around us, of little work expanding to fill vast expanses of time.
But there were also examples of industrious, dedicated workers who could turn out a vast amount of work ... by expending the required effort and sticking with the task ... in a relatively small amount of time.
I would not sell those workers short. Their value, to themselves and society, is obvious.
I have occasionally borrowed ... and adapted ... my former boss' mantra, however. Clutter, for example, has a habit of expanding to fill the space available to it. In this instance, pockets. More specifically, in my case, two pockets.
While I lament the passing of the two-pocket shirt, I've found that when I do, on rare occasion, wear a shirt with two pockets, I simply load myself down with twice as much clutter ... yes, clutter ... as I ordinarily would.
So my weepy little poem about the disappearance of the two-pocket shirt, I must admit, is not entirely valid. Still ... there are times when an extra pocket would be nice.
But what about putting some of that stuff in a pants pocket? Hey, if I had any room left there, I would. Shirt pockets are for the overflow, you know.
Today's poem:


Two-Pocket Blues
Shirts I've known
and loved the most
all had two pockets,
a feature I really,
really needed for
my peace of mind.

Just knowing I had
that extra room,
a place to carry
sun glasses, a pen -
a pencil, too, just
in case - a mint,
toothpicks, perhaps
telephone change,
or a mysterious
scribbled note,
meant so much to me.

But now, sad to say,
I'm a two-pocket
person, being held
against my will, in
a one-pocket world.
© 1999
(originally published in Capper's)

***

Today's word: overflow

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
Oh, you've got that right, Helen ... I consider a loaded purse to be a dangerous weapon ... and a loaded pocket, of course, is an accident, just waiting to happen ... which reminds me of a pen I found (I can't resist trying to give a good home to an orphaned pen or pencil) ... I tucked it into an already overstuffed shirt pocket ... and ... that's right ... it leaked through the pocket ... and down the front of the shirt.