Tuesday, January 5, 2010

The Kid Without Fingers

Look there.

It’s the kid without fingers.

Look. Look. There he is.

The kid who can’t grab anything.

The kid with the stumps for hands.

The one who can’t wear a ring.

He’s going away.

They say he’ll be out on his rear.

No knuckles, can’t pray,

won’t be writing letters back here.

Look. Look right there. There he is. The fingerless kid.

The kid who'll never own gloves.

Look at him. Look.

He’ll never scratch an itch

or turn the pages of a book.

I don’t wanna. I don’t wanna look at that kid anymore.

It makes me sad. And besides

I’m getting sore

At the kid with no fingers.

He’s allowed to just sit

and without a wipe lingers

after taking a shit.

He can’t write his name,

and he ain’t got no shoes.

And it gives me the blues

when he picks his nose

with his toes.

Look at him.

Have a look but don’t stare.

That kid’s no good with scissors

But when it comes to knocking


Look. But don’t get too close.

That kid’s hands are like bricks.

He’s worse than all thumbs

and he can’t make a fist.

But when his punch comes

you’ll wish that he’d missed.

Don’t ask him to turn a doorknob,

Or squeeze lemonade.

But if there is somewhere to rob

he’s got it quite made.

The kid without fingers is running away.

Catch him. Tackle him.

He’s heading for the highway.

Take him down. Come on!

Don’t let that kid go astray.

Doesn’t he know on the roadside

a thumbless kid can’t hitch a ride?

But there he goes.

He’s going on through

That barbwire fence

Onto pastures new.

He’s going, going, gone.

He finally blew.

So don’t start to fidget,

And take one last look.

The kid with no digit

Has just found a hook.