At a Nail Parlor, One Afternoon

I submit my hands to a Vietnamese girl

and her tools; between me and her

a rainbow-shaped lamp shimmers

an arc-shaped pusher scrapes and scratches

my otherwise smooth cuticle being roughen

tiny burrs stirred up— this velvety arousal

long white scuffs running wildly on my nails

I see your face above me

myself coiling beneath you

“Are you alright?” her eyes peering over

the rims of glasses, halfway down her nose

I still my shaky hands; I blink you away

now a pair of tweezers for plucking,

now a miniature sickle for trimming, now a file

for leveling. No desire could not be evened out

she hands me a heavy ring binder

pages laden with manicured nails

bodies put clothes back on, demurely

a layer of primer chilling my nails

you slithering away from me

Please, wait to see the color I chose?

her furry brush caresses my pinky

squinting, she examines it before letting it go

being abandoned, my pinky blushes crimson

This is inappropriate, my pinky screams

to be touched by anyone other than him, being addicted

to coming here, fingers kneaded by whoever she is

my gaze swirls to the depth of the nail parlor

on every table, a pair of hands, a Vietnamese girl

rainbow-shaped lamps look like cousins

“Hanna," she raises her head, as if reading my mind

she points to a toolbox, a shining label reads, “Hanna”

“Next time, just look for me”