My dad owns a lonely glove
Of black leather
It looks rough but it's soft
Like velvet feathers
It has five pockets
And on my fingers
They feels snug and warm
A lone black dove, his glove
Searching for its partner
All day long
'I'm lonely' it says
No one talks to me
I used to have a partner
I ask 'Where is she? '
I'm different than you
They all say 'I am the best, Yo! '
I sit and wonder 'Where did she go? '
The one who thinks that I am cool
My dad's lonely glove broods
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Comments about this poem (Black Glove by Ryan Perera )
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