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