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