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).

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4 Responses

  1. Anita Keal Wolkowitz

    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?”

    Reply
  2. Lucy

    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!

    Reply

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