Today, my father’s gloves appeared

Softest leather, the colour of horse chestnuts
brass studs at the wrists, almost invisible stitching


lined with fine wool. I remembered the smell -
leather, of course, and tobacco, and Old Spice.


And how I took them once, and never asked
and lost them somewhere. I was careless 


in the way some young men are. And so I lied and
told myself I didn’t care. I didn’t even like the man.


Some of which is true.