The Hand-Imp

This is a poem I wrote for one of my homework assignments. It did not need to be a poem, but I thought I needed to try something "outside the box"... And outside my comfort zone. I enjoyed writing this, and I did not expect to find it as easy as I did to make the words flow. I think it's definitley something I could continue working on, and I will be trying to write more poetry even if I do move on from this.

The Hand-Imp

 

The Hand-Imp says not where he is from

Or she, or them, or it

The Hand-Imp clambers merrily along towards your finger tip.

Picking for nails, from girls or males

Sex matters not to the Hand-Imp.

What does matter though, when they get past the toe,

Past the trousers and jeans

Up by any means

Around your waist

And then, with haste

Down your sleeve

Oh, so naïve are we of the skills of the Hand-Imp.

The importance, what matters?

Those five crusty factors

Tis not the palm that imps desire,

Nor the knuckles they require

Your wrinkly skin

All stretchy and thin

The imps will pull at

And laugh at somewhat

As Hand-Imps hands are terribly smooth

And green, yes they leave a sheen

As they scratch at your thumbs

Making handy skin crumbs

They’ll scrabble along ‘til they reach your claws, then they’ll pause.

Then they’ll pick out your nails.

Yes those things sat in beds at the ends of your digits

For those little midgets it’s Heaven on hand

How grand they must feel

Tucking into a meal

Made solely from talons

Hand-Imps like the challenge, you see

Getting food for free

Well, it’s not food for me

Or you, unless you like to chew

On the ends of your fingers

Just mind those that linger.

There, on your finger, the Hand-Imp.