poem for my right-hand man

bless your hands

for double-bowing my laces
as tenderly as a parent
on their child’s first day at school

bless your hands
for finding their feet with hooks
and zips; the ins and outs
of the wrap dress

for honey on my crumpet
and moreish chilli pasta
bookending fractured day

for keys slotted home
and the right CD in the player—
Tilbury ivory-precise over Feldman

bless your hands
for abandoning roll-ups,
for the flare of a match
relayed to wick instead

for framing your thoughts
in fluent gestures
for marking my words in your little red book

bless your hands most of all
for knitting themselves
seamlessly into mine

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4 thoughts on “poem for my right-hand man

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