You didn’t have to do it so tenderly.
You didn’t have to stand up from your seat at the
     Covid Rapid Testing tent so quickly.
You didn’t have to stumble over the dichotomoy
     of your hesitation & enthusiasm to take the
     tissue from me.
You didn’t have to reassure me that it was going
     to be ok.
It – the hair, the night, my life.
You didn’t have to go along with my lame joke
     that it’s good luck.
Luck – tonight, tomorrow, forever.
You didn’t have to check one more time to make
     sure my hair looked all set for the evening.
That I looked all set for the evening.
My mirror on the go.
Have a great night
Like it’s all part & parcel of that hot and
     droning job.
Or maybe it was your fresh air too?
Your chance for a poem.
Maybe you’re writing a poem right now too.
About how a stranger actually talked to you
     in New York City.
Looked you in the eyes,
Exchanged a tissue,
Made a lame joke,
Let you touch them tenderly,
For a moment.