calloused, dry, icy ones, eyes peering past me.
I can see,
for just a moment, into his soul, but more so
into mine. Dirty and dark. I had wanted
coffee and a candy bar. Money I had set
aside. Do I know sacrifice?
Here is your paper. It reads
“How to Handle having HIV.” I toss it on the floorboard,
this man’s treasure; this man’s means.
His beard, burnt brown and burly.
touch mine. Smooth, pale, and polished.
Have a good day, as I drive away. A knife in my stomach.
Be my hands, a faint voice whispers.
Those hands are my hands.