There is a hand dangling from the driver’s window
of the car ahead, a sight seen less often on hot days
like this, when most folks crank up the A/C

and keep hands inside, but this one seems
unbothered by the heat. It bounces and pulses,
sometimes points fingers or twists the wrists,

does a judo chop or makes a fist. I can’t hear
the band it dances to, but try to imagine
the music from the motion I see, something

jazzy, jumpy, full of jive, nothing limp or frumpy
about this music or this hand—it’s not a Lawrence
Welk hand, or an opera hand, it dances loose and free

as if it doesn’t see me looking. It’s not a self-conscious
hand, it’s a dance-alone hand, though one of mine
is getting twitchy and wants to join in, so I think about

pulling alongside so my hand can introduce itself
to hers, but that that would be dangerous, and anyway,
I’m on the wrong side of the car for that. Now she’s pulling

her hand back inside, so maybe the song has ended.
What can I say but thank you hand, I enjoyed the chance
meeting. Let’s do it again next Wednesday.

Richard Allen Taylor is the author of several poetry collections, most recently Letters to Karen Carpenter and Other Poems (2023), published by Main Street Rag Publishing Company. His poems, articles and reviews have appeared in numerous publications including Rattle, Comstock Review, The Pedestal, Litmosphere, and others. Several of his poems have been nominated for Pushcart Prizes or Best of the Net. Taylor formerly served as review editor for The Main Street Rag and co-editor of Kakalak Anthology of Poetry and Art. He earned an MFA in Creative Writing from Queens University of Charlotte and currently resides near Greenville, S.C. His personal website is found at richardallentaylor.com.