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 herb
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