The Handshake Poem by Bryan Taplits

When I was still a kid-
and had not yet known a sin-
I met my father's brother,
He was bigger than this brother-
and of siblings my father had no other.
As he heartily took my hand,
he called me quite a man.
His grip was firm and callused,
And I looked up limply at him.
While his grasp
was the bark of a tree
Mine was sweaty and unwieldly
Enveloped and unfree.

Years later I saw that uncle again
A face that still glowed,
and which was sweaty and was sweet,
We saw each other simultaneously
As each was crossing the street.
We did not hug, kiss nor clinch
As both-we saw each other first-
A resounding 'hello', each we beamed
Delighted,
as two faces both were searched.

He took my hand and shook my hand-
A now pallid grip...but worse.
No longer was the grasp barklike
No longer was it like a bear,
No longer his shake firm with strength,
Unsympathetic, I smiled:
No more did I a care.

Before I fell asleep that night
I thought of my grip too,
Now powerful and barklike
And his-so wan, subdued.
I guess, concluding to myself,
My years were now a movie-sequel
In those years I had gotten older and stronger-
'About time! '
And now was more his
equal.