The Hands of the Man with the Red Beard
He hold with love.
Kindly he handles things:
telephones dollars,
sluts
and cars. Stones
he likes more than coins-
feels their shapes out
with his freckled fingers.
Keyboards he loves-
typewriters and pianos.
Tillers and outboard motors
radios ropes
he knows by hand.
Myself.
T-squares transistors
knives and wires
he lifts
with deft and casual touch.
His violin he raises
like Burgundy
to praise me.
I am equal
to the handle
of his hammer.