Poem: It Could be Worse

It’s hard to greet people with passion,
When your hands are weighted down,
You can smile warmly, with no dribble on your face,
But yet it’s others who’ll get the warm embrace.
Hands full of metal,
It’s tends to impair, the spontaneous hug.
What is this contact if it has to be planned?
Mapped out,
If I sit like this, then she can, with no fear of impalement, throw arms,
If I’m stood when we meet, which I most probably will be,
Then no deal of planning will do anything for me,

Do I drop the rods of steel and fall to the floor,
Then I need to not worry of dignity any more,
Grovelling around on the ground is no first impression.
I could of course, drop the metal and lean,
But what will she take that to mean,
This embrace is just a “hello” it’s great,
Not “Hi now here’s all my weight”

The metal stays, a supportive curse,
Infringing hug ability,
But I guess it could be worse.

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