Soft Gentle Distraction
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Soft hands are of no interest to me
Is my first thought but I realize
That’s not exactly true.
I’m sort of obsessed with them
Morbidly fascinated by the life lived
Resulting in no calluses, no broken nails
No cracked skin, no permanent grease stains
No dirt (no longer soil) embedded on the side of the index finger
Not a sign of that organic complex that
Supports life in any corner of a nail.
Lives so foreign to me and mine.
And so I sit and stare at hands
Men’s mostly.
Having a different unrealistic absurd standard
For women’s hands.
Not wondering about their soft hands
Not wondering why their soft hands aren’t repulsive
And why men’s soft hands are. To me.
Not wondering why I care at all or
Why I’m not just worried about my own damn self
Or the actual subject of this (yet another) meeting.
Instead here I fixate on pristine doughy man hands
Only wondering if I’m making a face
As I stare.
A Picture and a Poem 