Gloves
Black and flimsy
With the fingers cut out
The thumb holes too big
Cause I was guessing where to cut
000
This pair remembers the first performance
Where I was struggling to keep up
This pair remembers the feel of state
Where we set the bar a couple steps up
000
These gloves were with me in the cold
When I couldn't stop sweating
These gloves were with me in the heat
When I didn't feel like standing
000
These gloves sit in my closet during the months of off-season
They sit on my lyre and binders from past seasons
Sometimes I still put them on and think, "It's almost marching season."
That's when I notice they still have that sweet smell
Of the sweat from last season