Gloves

Today I found a baby's glove Lying on the drainage board, so still Yesterday a leather glove From the slim fingered hand of a woman The next time I saw one, it was lying half frozen And twisted on the kerb and I couldn't take it Now I have my own private collection All lined in rows when you open up the wardrobe doors Now I have no room for my obsession Lined up and labelled in neat little packets The next time I saw one, it stuck inside my head And became all that I could think about And through wax seals and padlocks A hand through my ribcage Past the choking, I saw palms and fingers grasping Shoulders, collarbone, crushing I imagined myself hacking desperately at a sea of appendages Forward and right Freeing myself like a butcher, feeling the mash of bone and sinew Running slowly down the front of my body And I couldn't take it any more I said, I've got to go I've got to get out of here I've got to go and I ran down the street I've got to go I've got to get out of here I've got to go I've got to go