Step I: Sit in a crowded cafe.
Raise your hand to your face.
Stare into the palm of your hand.
Flex fingers until suitably awed.
Step II: Flip your hand over.
See the sliding subcutaneous tissue,
as you make and release a fist.
Continue to feel the awe.
Step III: Wriggle your fingers in
all permutations of one and two.
Cycle: grasp, release, and repeat.
Revel in the glory of manipulation.
Step IV: Continue as the summoned
Officer inquires about ingestion of
psilocybin, mescaline, ayahuasca, or
various three-letter substances.
Step V: Verbally, politely acknowledge the
Officer as you continue to note the
details of intricate hand movement.
Said Officer will ask, “So, what’s going on?”
Step VI: Answer truthfully and politely:
“I’ve never really seen my hand before.
Never noted it’s vast range of dexterity.
Tight enough to hold a sledge hammer.
Light enough to hold a bug harmlessly.
Fingertips can detect infinitesimal
variations in temperature and texture.
I can even tell a Vulcan–
should I ever see one–
to ‘live long and prosper’
merely by abducting finger pairs.”
At this point, the Officer will need
to consult with his superior to make
a determination about whether you
constitute a danger to self or others.
Now, if you put a phone in the
aforementioned palm, no one
will give it a moment’s notice.
Still, think you can recognize sanity?
[National Poetry Month, Poem #20]