Thursday, February 4, 2016

All Thumbs

The parasitic bee began
To appear in the fifteenth
Century. Big finger against
The palm, stout, opposing the rest.

Without it you can't drain a mug,
Clutch a fountain pen correctly.
How could this mean incompetence,
Unless we still long to ascend

The trees we haven't slept in since
Our digits found precision
Depends on strong opposition
And our need for balance shifted?

When I should get aught, each finger
Is one plum-lucky thumb, and I
Shall thrive on the miracle sums
Of something for nothing from crumbs.

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