Hands

the young man

hands piano-wire strong

in fire and fist

ungainly and misused

cuticles bitten and torn

stuffed hard and deep

in pockets, curling

with frustration

the grown man

callus-roughened

scrubbed hard

with reverence, handed

his baby boy

in an instant

made soft and expert

to soothe and swaddle

and yet hidden away

still the same

fire, now smouldering

able to harden in fist

but only to keep

his baby safe

the old man

hands larger somehow

rougher and cracked

with time

his baby now a man

can still

rock and snuggle, answering

gurgles of the next generation

with low rumbling laughter

tousling heads, giving

pats of encouragement

and even now

his hands ready

to quick draw

in fist

when fire approaches

for his own