Three Akward Handshakes

The first came in the tempered daylight of a dawn, the five bony extensions of a wrist

Not bereft of a palm, a lily pad among the reeds

His eyes, infinite

I take direction from the lines in his face, pointing me down and in

He is old, so I take care not to harm him, his hands feeble and content

He is missing the tip of a finger on one of them, and I cannot remember which

I will not look down again

My right hand is extended and my intentions are kind

Yet he gripped my palm the way a hawk would a field mouse, and I cringed from pain of ego

I felt with that blow every swing of his hammer, every board he had cut

 

Number two was a former friend

We approached and passed with nothing much to say

I offered my right hand; he quickly gave me his left

And we passed bye and bye with what was, essentially a high five

 

The third was a tornado in a mineshaft

A cold night where babies are bundled and careless drivers find themselves in trouble

Bars, crowded

Old friends, bye and bye

One grabs me off guard, a bear hug

Old friends, bye and bye

His handshake is an earthquake 

Old friends, bye and bye