He Likes to Use His Hands (for use in a poetry slam)

He likes to use his hands.

He has tools hung carefully on the wall in his garage.

He likes to use his hands.

He doesn’t like wearing a suit and tie, but he works at the bank, so…

He’d rather wear overalls with his name embroidered on them.

He likes to use his hands.

One time on a plane he saw a short instructional video wherein they advised passengers to put smaller items, they used a purse as an example, under the seat in front of them and larger items, as illustrated by a roller bag, in the bin above their seat. He wondered how confused passengers would be if they had instead used an elephant the size of a purse and a mouse the size of roller bin as their examples.

Not directly involving his hands, but nevertheless important.

He loves the smell of Wd-40.

He doesn’t spray it, he applies it.

There isn’t a squeaky hinge in his entire house.

Except for his garage door. It squeaks loudly, but he allows it. He feels it’s his garage’s way of saying “Hurry back” when he leaves and “Welcome home” when he returns.

Boy howdy, he loves the smell of Wd-40.

He applies it to his member… his favorite tool.

He likes to use his hands.

His girlfriend appreciates that he likes to use his hands.

She believes that rich people will eventually get tired of having bowel movements and figure out a way to outsource them to somebody else. That it’s just a matter of time until a family of four on Martha’s Vineyard no longer has to go to the toilet and some guy in India is taking eight shits a day.

Again, not directly related to her boyfriend’s hands, but relevant nonetheless.

His girlfriend also loves the smell of Wd-40.

He applies it to his girlfriend, front and back.

Top and bottom.

Which, ironically, makes her emit sounds similar to his garage door. “Welcome home” indeed.

He applies it to his swollen member.

Swollen seems to indicate an accident, like when he hits his thumb with a hammer.

He likes to use his hands.