my rags   at the top is the grey wool beanie, washed three times in thirty years only because of goat drool   the tee shirts have random rot holes, frayed neck lines and smears of paint or varnish   the flannel shirts are torn at the tail, shredded by brambles or wire, and grubby from gardening   the pullovers have ravelled cuffs, smudges of putty or silicon and big holes in the elbows   the jeans are split across the knees, not torn but worn through, with tangled threads dangling down   my rags don’t go out to parties,…