(Poem 81 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI is puzzled by human hands.
They are used for grasping
objects and gesturing,
typing on keyboards and
petting animals, holding
teacups aloft and shielding
the eyes to protect from
bright sunlight, but mostly
they hang strangely from
the end of human arms
without purpose or form.
How many fingers is anyone’s
guess; where one hand ends
and another begins cannot
be determined by the
greatest minds in computing.
All the hands touching
one’s face must be the way
to show comfort to another.
Perhaps a hand should sprout
from an ankle, to better
touch the earth’s surface with.
And don’t even get AI started
on the fingernails; we’ll be
here all day trying to figure out
the what and where of those,
never mind the why…

@Home Studio – 81^st poem of the year

Runner ups for the AI hands photos to accompany my poem: