A solitary mitten

a solitary mitten, a solitary hand
on a solitary day of grey skies,
empty offices, of snow flurries
threatening a depth i can't shovel
with one hand ensconced in one mitten.

i call the neighbor to pick me up
in his yellow taxi - he installed a hook
to hold my cane; the radio is blaring
hot8, a band just here from new orleans.
they were all black, we were all white.

they sat in a line-up like thugs
after the concert to sign CDs
i felt so white.
they looked at my missing hand
and saw
nothing.