Mother Spigot
-by Happy HiramChristmas gloves
Always Christmas gloves,
never a toy or game
But when February
blew cold on my hands
I wished I had not lost them, again.
Mom always put a pair of socks
on my hands in place of mittens.
Not a pair did I own without holes
Though I tried to keep hands hidden.
I came back home with ice cold hands
Longing for some bit of comfort
Mother yanked away the half-torn shreds
and turned the tap on hot and walked off.
Rubbing hands in ice cold water
Hoping they would thaw out a bit
Before it quickly got much hotter
Still froze hands must close the spigot.
Burned and bitter and wondering why,
Too young to know, too old to cry.
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