I left my gloves at the analyst’s
He called to say he’d found them
Black, he said, lined with cotton
Green, I said, lined with satin
He saw them right, confound him
Not the leather, a fine dark green
But the lining—just cotton
Ordinary winter stuff
Dull patina, flannel-rough
No wonder I’d forgotten
But warm and lasting, he may say
More likely, he won’t say it
Or if by any chance he kissed
Favored gloves I scarcely missed
When they were in his closet
Confound the man? Oh, not a prayer
He has seen the gloves I wear
I’ll never stand him on his head
Or turn the couch into a bed
Green for black may be misread
But cotton’s cotton from his chair
Nancy Weber is the author of 20-some books, including the 1970s memoir The Life Swap, about her attempt to become another woman while that woman was (supposedly) trying to become her.
Featured Image: “Woman in a Boat” by James Tissot (1836-1902).
Dearest Nancy: Your poem is wonderful. Witty, painful, true you were and still are a remarkable human WOMAN. Love, anita.
PS Morty loved it, too!
In the words of Morty: ” It’;s beautiful, but perchance, is this a shrunken version?”
This is an utterly brilliant poem and I love everything about it. Funny and poignant at the same time, this poem is beautifully edited and although it provides a great deal to ponder, it is as succinct as it is superb. I love it.
Bravo!
This is fantastic. I would love to publish it in my eZine. URL above.
Best, Firestone Feinberg
This is fantastic. I would love to publish it in my eZine. URL above.
Best, Firestone Feinberg ff@verse-virtual.com