Oh, Okay ...

... if you insist ...

Lost Glove
March 1, 2008

Where is the hand
that fits this glove,
alone in the mud
outside the
Belmont Library?

And where is the book,
in its crinkly new cover,
that fits the hand
that fits this glove,
alone in the mud
outside the
Belmont Library?

And where is the bag
made of sturdy cloth fiber
that holds the book,
with its crinkly new cover,
that fits the hand
that fits this glove,
alone in the mud
outside the
Belmont Library?

And where is the shoulder,
knotted with worry,
that carries the bag,
made of sturdy cloth fiber
that holds the book,
with its crinkly new cover,
that fits the hand
that fits this glove,
alone in the mud
outside the
Belmont Library?

And where is the father
with his hands in his pockets,
who bears the shoulders,
knotted with worry,
that carry the bag,
made of sturdy cloth fiber
that holds the book,
with its crinkly new cover,
that fits the hand
that fits this glove,
alone in the mud
outside the
Belmont Library?

He’s alone in the dark,
outside the
Belmont Library,
with a bag
for a book,
looking for the glove
that fits the hand
of the daughter
he loves.