Interior

I thought he wanted to
shake my hand. And
maybe unknowingly,
desire to touch me
(like contraband in a
luxury liner) hid in the
polite hands-on obligation.

The way he twisted my
fist, I knew he had
mistaken it for a
doorknob. The way he
walked through, I knew
his grip had made me
an unlocked door.

He had a tryst with a
man in that room. Maybe
I would do. Maybe he’d
prefer me.

Timothy Robbins teaches ESL. He has a B.A. in French and an M.A. in Applied Linguistics. He has been a regular contributor to Hanging Loose since 1978. His poems have appeared in Three New Poets, Slant, Main Street Rag, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Off The Coast, and others. His collection Denny’s Arbor Vitae was published in 2017. He lives with his husband of twenty years in Kenosha, Wisconsin, birthplace of Orson Welles. Check out Timothy on YouTube.