Two circumspect smiles come at me —
but more hands than faces arrive.
Their fingers come faster, inordinately –
suggesting not four hands, but five.
What do these hands want to do?
And how does one read human eyes?
I feel a warm madness about to ensue
that might burrow beneath their disguise,
if it is a disguise. I make the mistake
of assuming that truth is submerged.
Or is it that this is the innocent break
they must take so they’ll have emerged
to converge the point of their flight?
Five hands not four give one pause.
Homonym! Paws with claws in a fight?
Is some pact underway with a cause
that I will not much like? It won’t be
the first time. Won’t be the last.
I recall a small mantra: “Don’t be
the impasse.” I am the play and the cast.