Show of Hands
Follow me to the city, said the mind to the hands
Put down your rural labors
stop your tilling and harvesting
and ungrip the ropes
that move tons across mountains and seas
Hands can relax in the city, explained the mind
I will take on the grind and toils
while you rest and gesture and hold those you love –
even delicately adjust aperture to snap a photo
Just open your warm palm
against the spin of the globe
and feel the pace of the city
on your limp, watch-strapped wrist
So the tired hands released their iron grip
and their wearied shaking slowed
and their worn creases melted
as the blisters began to heal
And the tired hands
brimming with humble gratitude
gently raised two fingers
to hail a cab to Chicago
