Image borrowed from YahooCold Hands
I leave my house running,
my breath making clouds in the
frigid morning air,
my bare feet stinging.
I grab my purse only
for the car keys inside.
Escape, my mantra.
I fear for my life.
If only I had my gloves---
my soft, comforting, luscious
leather gloves, everything would
be okay. No time, no time.
I see them on the floor
as I take a frantic look back.
No time, no time…
Marion
Posted over on her site Dragonfly's Poetry & Prolixity
Listed as #34 over on Magpie Tales 46
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