Helping Hands Poem by David Thomas

these hands
these so sore helping hands
and these eyes
seeing through all the black and white,
a monovision more incommon than not,
these hands like talons ripping as fast they can
fish
trapped inside
the barrel
as he cocks his wrist,
that tiny gap of silent air
and in an instant these fish know they're goners,
full of holes
that what this life of mine has been like...
a great tapestry to the biggest moths
and the kindest spiders
as well as the coldest eyes
and the softest hands
however these hands,
rough and dry
witnessed it all first hand
and then the other.