Girding Up The coat still fit. The arms, the chest, all of it in brown corduroy. And his wool stocking hat. Also out of vogue, that he’d thought he lost, he now pulls over his ears. He rights himself. He feels smaller and smaller. Through morning’s haze, he looks into a thinning line of days. No telling what he’ll say out there or what stance he’ll take. But he tells himself that sure enough, he’ll…
