put your hand down

“put your hand down!”
he said in the elevator,
slapping her hand,
joyous expression.

“Hi there,” hands raising,
another slap, the ox poised,
naga coiled, beyond sleeping,
beyond awake.

“Put your hands down!!”
again, violent.

They departed, and
the ox followed. Naga,
resting on that back.

“See you later,” she said
to the hand slapping convention,
one went left, one went right,
the ox followed.

The door shut, both in
sun shining, the lightning
bolt fused with photon bath.

“I do not suggest violent behavior.”

Street sign, reads, “bravo.”

It is love,
not self.

Absent attribution,
to the vehicle,
eyes and ears,
may miss the