The Lonely Mitt

It’s only a mitt,
A single mitt.
Causing amusement,
On the night bus home.

Missing its brother,
Lonely in the cold.
Abandoned by the aisle,
Impromptu, unwitting football.

One cold hand shivers,
Far away on the wintery street.
Cursing his rotten luck,
Despair over his last pair.

 

The prompt for Day 7 is to write a poem about luck and fortuitousness.

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