Wearing those fingerless, arthritis taming gloves
didn’t make the play on words an aphorism - not
that wisdom had anything to do with it; it was an
early morning coolness voicing th’ only meaning
making sense, whose was the winning hand? A
lack of finger-sensitivity & numbness irked - that
inimitable component of each morning bug-bear
where fingers fail to achieve a proper sentience
But we persevere, making anarchy an unseemly
state of cognisance where even the gloves give
comfort in their tacit agreement they cannot win;
their advice delivers a warm breath at least, and
thus eased the elastic confines we seek the sun
where its no longer a struggle to be home free
© 16 May 2017, I. D. Carswell
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