Busy Hands Poem by Koroosh Floyd

A peculiar rush of bewilderment; countless imitators

could never duplicate the feeling; duplicating the obvious

is a strenuous chore, the pretenders will have their hands full

of do overs. Grizzled, repetitious hands that could never rest;

chapped by experience, breaks of the skin represent victorious

persistence. Remains of the time, the mileage to that seemingly

unreachable destination; the destination was here all along.

Incomplete conclusions are necessary evils, the hands that

sign the papers of a supposed settlement. The hands that

can carry their own, the hands that can ward off unruly

adversaries. The underdog is alive and well.