Manhandling

With gloves on no less, the blood on his shirt
and the line up of rinsed-out hung-up to dry
masquerades for his hands, damage-doer.
He sees himself in the mirror
as some kind of spunk hero, a kind of punk
who neverminds that the one woman
he loved walked out the door with her head
high and slapped her gloves on the table
to remind him she came to find him utterly
untouchable.