by Roy Nathanson (Gallatin professor)
Don’t Touch Your Face!
And by all means, keep your hands away
from your eyes – they hear things!
Mysteries that amaze and frighten us.
For instance, they hear
when you sip tea with a spoon.
They advise the spoon
to have its own cup of tea.
“In these dark days, you deserve a cup,”
your eyes tell the spoon.
These days, they speak to me too!
“Let small be small,” my eyes say.
“Introduce yourself to your germs.
Give them a spoon and their own 2 eyes.
Let them have their own cup of tea.
I’m sure they are as frightened as you are!
Let them make themselves at home. Who knows?
Maybe you’ll end up living side by side!
After all, far smaller things vibrate this world
and manage to negotiate proper living quarters.”
Then my eyes go so quiet, even they think it’s night.
Don’t Touch My Face!
I know it’s not the advisory du jour
but I want my hands to have clarity—
to know the do’s and don’ts.
Certainly my arms, fingers,
slumping shoulders, lips, skinny ass
or the desperate neurons in between
have neither the motive or opportunity
to touch anyone’s face. So none
of these actors have been weaponized.
It’s my hands that must know the rules.
So I wrote the directive quite legibly:
Don’t Touch My Face!
But what of my heart, or yours for that matter?
We all know how hearts tend to be desperados
even in the best of times, and these days?
Mine says it can barely see out there!
Yesterday night my heart was so beat.
“C’mon Roy, it pleaded. “We hearts are wily.
We need clear messages. We need to know
where/what/when it’s safe to touch.
We see—but through our own kind of cloud.
And unfortunately, we never learned to read.”