I wonder what happens
To old corduroy
Once it has lost the clear delineation between its lines
In new corduroy the pants make a noise
Zwshhh, zwshhh, zwshhh
For that reason
Ninja’s seldom wear corduroy
And black corduroy is hard to find anyway
But one day the corduroy wears out
Like the liver on an alcoholic
And the zwshhh is no more
And then, really, what’s the point in wearing it
So you throw it out
And it goes to heaven
But I wonder, in corduroy heaven?
Does it zwshhh again?
If it does it would be such a noisy place
That even Ninjas could wear it