I once dated a woman
who cracked her
knuckles -
endlessly.
We had drinks at the bar
before dinner
and she cracked her knuckles
with every sip I took.
I tried pleasant conversation and,
yep, knuckle cracks.
When she started cracking each
finger individually, 1 x 10 = 10,
I suggested we order dinner.
She cracked all the way through
the lengthy menu.
I don’t remember what her face
looked like, but I can tell
you everything about her hands -
surprisingly dainty!
The waiter took our order.
I chose the Alaskan king crab legs.
It came with a crab mallet.
While she cracked, I smacked.
Our table was a symphony
of percussion,
even if the date lacked harmony.

© Laura DeHart Young