UNTOUCHED ENVELOPES

My hands are probably famous now.

Some novel, a poem maybe,

describing the texture.

The span of my ringed fingers.

I saw the sideways glance.

Quick notes beside

thumbnails of Lowry porters

and the dull paraphernalia

of suburban platforms.

My hands may have an alias now.

Skills ascribed to them

in some thick plot.

Pushing envelopes I never touched.

Tony Noon