Lost

Gloved
hatted
pants on
it waves
it waves a stark red hand

a lonely
a lost
poor empty red
it waits and shakes to greet you

you pick it up
you always do, a universal agreement
you place it there
a wave
a nod
it hangs there in the landscape

somewhere in another place
a look
a search
a scolding

but still its there
poor empty red
its in the landscape waving