Unrequited Glove Poem by Marc Mannheimer

He walked the streets
watching all of the pairs,
hand in hand,
strolling here and there

A brown leather patch
on the front of a mitt
of manila crochet
in a warm tight fit

It seemed to him
he was the only glove
in this whole, lovestruck world
without someone to love

He went to sleep
that lonely night
wishing he may,
wishing he might
meet up with an identical
glove the next day,
they would rest hand in hand
in the most perfect way

She sat on a park bench
in the bright, dewy morn,
as he rose and went out,
sad, solemn, forlorn

leather and manila
crochet, a bit worn;
for what did she wait
on this ideal, sunny morn?

Never had two beings
wanted so much from love
Though with all of the happiness
he’d been dreaming of,
our chap turned back that day
from seeking his love,
as life had never been fair before
to this lone, outcast glove