Handoff

I stepped back
There was nothing more to do
I extended weird
clammy hands
and was met with the same.
My words were awkward,
stance unsettled.
I didn’t know how to approach
the topic
without fumbling with my hair
or losing track of my feet.
I didn’t know how to ask
for my dues
without attacking like a junkyard dog
or snapping like a Venus flytrap.
I politely forced a smile,
saying pleasantries that were unnatural
for the circumstances.
I stood with slumped shoulders,
roving eyes,
twittering fingers,
short, careful breaths.

We wished each other a good life
under dimmed streetlights.
You passed me a few folded bills
and I sighed with relief.
We parted ways that October night
hearts still firmly attached to our sleeves
wondering how we let this
profession
consume us.