Hands and Exotic Places

This was another piece that I wrote in the workshop I took, and had forgotten about until now.... Our prompt was somewhat vague: 3 minutes to write something about someone's hands. 3 minutes using using a metaphor to an exotic city. 3 minutes to ask that person a question about their hands. I ended up turning it into a 3 part poem...

1. Hands that lack elegance,
in perpetual motion.
Chewed fingernails,
chipped black paint.

Soft hands,
with a soft outline,
veins quietly visible,
beneath the skin.

Hands that fiddle,
with,
string,
paper,
headphones,
the keys on a phone.

2. Panama City,
like the wind.
In perpetual motion.

Filled with,
sights,
sounds,
smells.

A placid spot,
will shield you,
from the movement,
for a moment.

3. "What makes you
chew your fingers so
that the paint chips,
and even you inexhaustible
supply of lotion
cannot make then attractive?"

"I paint
my nails and
chew my fingers and
move my hands perpetually and
put lotion on
out of habit.
Habits that
cannot be broken."