As i reflected on our sessions at orientation, which covered everything from healthcare coverage to philosophies of development and aid, the last frame of a hand washing public service poster caught my eye. I decided to use it as a springboard/title of this poem.
Your Hands Are Now Safe
A lofty proclamation
Some sort of certification
Am i now free – like Pilate – of any fault that may splash back?
Is this my get-out-of-a-hellhole-free card?
(An airlift is just a phone call away)
The repercussions of this statement seems too much to understand
Too violent to bear
My hands are not safe.