The Wool

I found it in a box today,

that thing I couldn't throw away.

A gift, they said, with hopeful eyes,

beneath the manufactured skies

of forced politeness.

It was green,

the ugliest sweater ever seen.

The yarn was rough, it scratched my skin,

a feeling I could not begin

to hide.

I smiled and said, "It's great,"

and sealed its poorly fitting fate.