Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2019
They’re supposed to keep you warm, while you hold things when it’s brick out.
But mine never fit right.
Sliding about but if they’re tight they’re too thin,
If they’re thick I can’t type with them.
When something fits like one, it’s supposed to be perfect. Sleek- form fitting,
Perfect match.
That hasn’t quite happened yet for me.

I should just hide my hands in my pockets.
I need to feel things, anyway.
I always lose them, anyway.
I sure know how to choose them,
Heat-tech and fingerless, mittens
and insulated.
What’s a middle ground?
Dirt is healthy, anyway.
I rather just see the ghosts, anyway.
svdgrl
Written by
svdgrl  NY
(NY)   
196
   Valerie Csorba
Please log in to view and add comments on poems