The poem is a small, strange transformation in five short lines. The speaker opens a velvet coat and, in that moment, becomes oak: something solid, rooted, and useful, "a place to hang" things on. The title, "Sheriff," suggests authority, so the coat might be a kind of official garment, though the poem never says so outright. Putting it on, or opening it, seems to make the speaker a fixture, a post that others lean on.
But the mood shifts with "itch." The velvet is soft, yet the role is uncomfortable, and the speaker feels it. Then comes the last line, where the oak turns to paper. That's a sharp drop in strength. Wood is pulped into paper, so the change makes sense, but it leaves the speaker thin and fragile, maybe just a document or a name on a form. The feeling is wry and uneasy: power looks sturdy, but wearing it can be irritating and may leave you hollow.