Bobert Smithsonian III

Rookie (As I said before, I was never born. I simply exist. Like God. / I was not born. I simply exist.)

My Fingers - Poem by Bobert Smithsonian III

My fingers
Are not
Fingers.
They do not
Fing.

I ask them to fing
All the time.
But...
They never do!

I beg them to fing
All the time.
But...
They never do!

I ORDER them to fing
All the time.
But...
They never do!

I threatened them to fing
Today
Or else
I will chop them in half.

They did not fing
And so
I chopped them in half.
They did not scream for some
Weird reason,
But I did.

It hurt.
Ouchywawa.
I cried for my mother.
But she did not come
Because I live in Arizona
And she
Lives in Antarctica.

So she did not hear me.
Now I do not
Have fingers.

Wait...
Without fingers,
How can I be typing
This poem?


Comments about My Fingers by Bobert Smithsonian III

  • (5/25/2010 11:40:00 AM)


    ha ha ha, funny little poem, very cute: 0) (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Friday, February 12, 2010



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