Ballad Of Forefinger (1) Poem by shimon weinroth

gather round me,
children of the sacro ileac
children of the womb,
listen to the tale we tell

of quadropeds,
amphibians, pisces and aves,
inhabiting the planet,
is what we do,

motion and waste rings
the bell of being
mammal with thumb
and four juxtaposed fingers

of this company of four
there is one
keeps the others in line,
forefinger is his name,

pointed the way
even before verble took place
led the dance of sign language,
wagging, warn, admonish and caution

a tempo of its own and a temper
to disown, woe to the appointee
who does not heed the message,
not unlike, rifle gun or canon,

not heeded, calls upon the others,
makes a fist to shake at wayward auditors
forefinger is crooked and beckons,
hierarchy claims its right