the thing about the gloves, is

The thing about the gloves is
you put the gloves on
your hands become indestructible
and you're out in the yardwork:
a vain symbol of human order
doing no real good for right
and wrong. Just tidy my own
patch of paradise. 

It's important because what if
dr. fucked-up caterpillar comes back
my old nemesis, bright green eye 
drawn in fuzz on his back? More 
tiny black bristles than you ever
felt sting, burn and swell! Well

at least that shit won't get on my
hands. I can gently lift up and pitch
him up, away and down to Statesville
prison, which - I forget which town,
but it doesn't matter. Most of these
clowns don't quite make the trip. There.
Done.
No trouble this time 
to speak of or curse, or carry on.
Time for a Coke, and get off my lawn. 

The gloves are off 

This day is going, but 
not gone.