The Glove Compartment

The Glove Compartment

I know a churning crowded
Messy vaguely pointless
Sort of black hole called
The glove compartment of life
Where I'm always looking
For that creased and crumpled
Map of my favourite provincial town
And those pair of dusty grimy
Ambre Solaire-smeared polaroids
I haven't seen for years -
Strange I never seem
To turn up any gloves!