Jacket

I shrug on my
Jacket of courage
Which
I know
Is a ragged
Moth-eaten
And shabby garment
Hardly able
To turn the winds.

I wrap in it

Hoping
The elements will not notice
My utter lack
Of preparedness
To endure the gale.

Perhaps

If the lightning does not flash
Too mightily
And I do not move
Too hastily
Mars may not notice my frailty
And fear.

Perhaps

I may come through the squall
Intact enough
To secure a needle and thread
And a patch or two
To mend this old jacket
So I may stand my post
And do this again
Tomorrow.