I shook someone’s hand.
He was on a date and, I guess,
tried to impress her with high-
octane Bird scooter tricks.
I didn’t see him fall, only found
him fallen and tangled. I saw
in his eyes the mental checklist,
what still worked, what didn’t.
At first I stayed in the car,
watched another person help
him stand up. A few other
bystanders checked him out.
I was only there to pick up pizza.
I waited in the sidewalk’s open air.
I asked if he was okay. We bonded
over our acquaintances with concrete.
Nobody had found him a bandaid.
So I ordered a pizza and got bandaids
for free. That’s when it happened:
he said, “Thanks, man,” held out his hand.
I ran into an old friend last week. We
punched the air between us. But there
I stood, firmly gripping this stranger,
looking into his eyes. “You’re welcome.”
I waited for them to drive away before
I pulled out my hand sanitizer. I wanted
the infection of human touch, but that
only goes so far. Plus, pizza was ready.