Nudist Colony for Ring Fingers

Glanced up at the ceiling

In the way a person does

When they hear their favorite song

On the coffee shop radio.

A purer form of temporary relief

Than food or mood-enhancing drugs,

The flash of a flashback smile

Radiating a room full of anti-adulting adults.

She figured her life would be over

As soon as she started dating

So she ironed her eyes with “Maybe”

And did not dare let them grow wrinkled.

There must be a nudist colony for ring fingers,

A place of connection for the purposefully disconnected

Who celebrate their independence

One closeted tear at a time.

Occasionally compensated with a public park or crowded hallway

But always wound up wondering what the point was

Since everyone was trained to instantly crop out

Evidence of human company.

Sometimes the only voice she heard all day

Was the elevator saying “Going up”

Which tempted her to go back down

Just to continue the conversation.

Sam Hendrian is a Los Angeles-based filmmaker and poet striving to foster empathy through art. Every Sunday, he writes personalized poems for passersby outside of Chevalier's Books, LA's oldest independent bookstore. You can find his poetry and film links on Instagram at @samhendrian143.