The Handshake

In the market we meet,
soldiers of civility.
I see his arm rise,
fingers unfolded.
We clasp and engage,
hiding behind
our small talk.
Worlds apart, we
might just as well
squeeze rocks.
So much to ask
of a handshake
but it’s all we have.
For one more moment
we press and touch
the thin skin
that binds us.
Then silently
we step back
from the other in
ever widening circles
to fortified trenches
we left behind.
This and two other poems first published in 
Wilderness House Literary Review #9/2.   
Read more here: