February seventh and I’m down another one
[It's been nearly forever since a blogging, but here's a little seasonal treat...]
Lost another left glove today
somewhere between the bank and the front door.
Think a girl would notice a speck of black
in all that snow.
But I abandon it as another clue to my existence.
One more unmarked monument
to the way my fingers bend,
where my coat rubs my wrist,
how I consume my share of road salt
by removing the first finger with my teeth,
how the ring finger hasn’t learned
to bulge for a diamond.
So many hollow tributes.
Are they ever pecked by the same bird?
Shoved by the same snow plow?
Neglected by the same person?
Is there someone,
constantly baffled by his propensity to find
There should be a Rescue somewhere
For unpaired February things.