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