1-25-08 Gloves

A single glove perched atop what used to be a pay phone kiosk. Another stuffed into a cyclone fence along 41st Street. My ex-wife always used to lose her gloves (sometimes one, often both), and I would dutifully buy another pair whenever she did, but we would always mourn the single glove. I would imagine it wandering the world, and inexplicable pity would well in my breast.