REV ROAD - HANDS

Frank Wheeler, the round faced intelligent looking young man

who sat biting his fist in the last row of the audience

carrying one hand in his pocket to conceal and dry

the knuckles he had sucked and bitten throughout the play

at the door he paused to withdraw and examine the pink blotched hand from his pocket

half expecting to find it torn to a pulp of blood and gristle

he swung out one trembling fist in an ugly backhand to her head

and she cowered away against the fender in an ugly crumple of fear

but nothing could be done

about his hands

bloated and pale they felt as if

all the bones had been painlessly removed

a command to clench them into fists

would have sent him quivering to his knees

looking at them, particularly at the bitten down nails that never in his life had a chance to grow

he wanted to beat and bruise them against the edge of the sink

the challenge to loosen one great fist and his frantic two handed efforts,

never succeeding to uncoil a single finger from its massively quivering grip

and when they lay loose and still on the hospital sheet

they still looked stronger and better than his sons

the dry clasp of his hands had been as

positive as ever