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Dating : Hands (In Our)

h2>Dating : Hands (In Our)

Where the pandemic dwells

Bridget Webber
Photo by Daria Gorbacheva on Unsplash

We pick plastic-clad celery and lettuce from ordered shelves,
then bean tins,
and wholesome bread.

Hands.

You clean the trolley –
hands –
because escaped germs spread.

We press the touch-screen –

hands –

to pay.

But that machine has it in for us.
Swipe.
An assistant’s finger corrects a stray.

Blunder.

Fright.

Hands.

We fill the bags.
Hands.
My mask sags.

Load the car.

Hands.

Climb on the seat.
Hands.
Drive.
Hands.

We’re grateful for this food to eat.

We wash them.
Hands and food.

Then park again — hands — open the door again — hands — wipe the sweat from between our brows again.

We wash our hands,

again,

because we don’t know where the virus lands.

What do you think?

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