Blame I cast,
When I meet someone new
reach out to shake their hand
A customary tradition-
but a few.
my sweaty palms?
Do you think he-
have me beat?
I suppose I was never that great of a sneak-
I clap my thighs repeatedly,
Fan out the fans.
If only I could hold a water bottle.
A master disguise.
Oh, ‘tis only condensation.
To no avail.
I notice him
wipe his hands
buttoned up shirt,
He and I,
since I can’t call us we,
can shake hands again.
In the comfort of my home
he can wait till I have exercised
‘Till I have the endorphins rushing
'Till the sweat and I are done blushing
‘Till I have showered
if he won’t bother striking conversation
If he and I sit in comfortable silence
If he make no moves to touch me with his lips
If he doesn’t grip my hips like handlebars
If he and I-
don’t make contact, at all.
If we watch the television screen-
In opposite caves
In opposite worlds.
wipe his hands then.
Next time he and I make physical acquaintance
He will nod his head.
Cringing upon the last interaction,
He knows not to shake the slimy.
Leave the slimy sausages in the fridge,
Or, in the ocean,
in an oyster stew.
You, nerves, could implant a virus into me.
I’ll create a pearl,
This virus could make me forget my social concerns.
I could focus on internal,
rather than external,