The pointer












In my hand I write
between lines, a bit unexpected
sometimes carved through, a side-way
that I take in the palm of my hand

a bit thicker on the ball
I’m coming home on the thumb
that keeps me under
till I point someone with the finger                                           
and switch the roles
by showing my middle one with brio

for you who rings my bell
I have just one
and it is the one on my left
where my loyalty belongs

and the little one
for what it means or serves
well, my nose will know it
for sure.

© Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere

19/10/2014

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