From the moment my fingers
close around my glasses
I am another beast
They close around steering wheels,
red pens and credit cards,
zippers and shoelaces,
but when they hold my glasses
like you’d hold a climbing rope
a stress ball, a life preserver;
like you’d hold a newborn,
a lightsaber, a key
I am ready to read
I am ready to see
I am ready to be free
The very last thing I’m waitin’ for,
someone special to adore:
I want a man
to hold my hand
in the grocery store.
Together traipsing down the aisles,
fingers locked, trading smiles
hands in a vice,
over checkered linoleum tiles.
We wouldn’t let go to push the cart-
not for one second would our hands part-
we’d each push with one
’til the shopping was done,
our love on display in Food Mart.
And should we come to a mid-aisle pole
to interrupt our grocery stroll
we’d never back down,
arms wrapping around,
all the closer to console.
When the paramedics at last arrive
they’ll find it easier to contrive
to chop down the pole
than to sever our whole
for separate we wouldn’t survive.
And then we shall have to learn to do
with completing every task by two-
a permanent pair,
a couple so rare-
to prove our devotion is true.