Raincoat and Fingers

It had been second-hand;
everything seemed to be
these days, from family
hand-me-downs to the fact
that Claire had fucked Bill
for at least a week before
they'd gone out.

But, even second-hand, it had
been the nicest of raincoats. The
line was crisp and the colour
sharp, neither cuff nor hem was
too long or short, and its lapels
seemed to fit the current style.
Avant-garde is what the clerk at
the thrift had called it,

He didn't care, he just liked the smell
of it--all old plastic and lingering
sweat, the way it clung to him even
while dry, and how he didn't need
all of his fingers to work the buttons.

That had been a major
selling point.