Poem-a-Day

None of us have The Touch,  
Though we have felt The Touch  
* 
We are all (all of us 
Wearing leopard-print dusters Just once, 
I was thirty hands tall (like one whole horse 
Standing on the back of another whole horse 
Washing the windshield of my father’s eighteen-wheeler  
Until I fell from the soapy hood Now, I drive all night 
I too am unimpressed (but want badly to be easily awed  
Again 
* 
Is The Touch a strand of loose hair 
That someone brushed away, but the wind 
Placed onto my face 
* 
My pick-up is the color of a hail stone I’ll drive 
You anywhere 
* 
Somewhere, someone is testing the germ 
Of soybean seeds in a wet towel In a warm kitchen  
Somewhere, someone is standing in a field of soybeans,  
Breaking off the pods to rub the velvet on their neck Down  
The ridge of their nose The Touch can be grown 
Some cucumbers in our garden have thorns like rose bushes 
They sting so