published: (updated: )
by Harshvardhan J. Pandit
I was late, I was tired,
I was empty in my gut,
A simple meal I desired,
Instead I got finger cut.
'Twas a knife in my hand,
Chopping tomatoes by two,
When it slipped not planned,
Landed on my thumb true.
Careless that I am as me,
I realised not the cut I had,
So when I went to make tea,
The thumb hurt just a tad.
So I saw the drops flowing out,
Blood as red as it ever was,
It was my fault without a doubt,
A band-aid went over the faux pas.
The next time it was bread,
Fresh, in my hand and warm,
Alas my finger again bled,
Droplets flowing in a swarm.
So I put another band-aid on it,
And toasted the cut bread,
It tasted good but hurt as I bit,
The bread was filling red.
The third time dishes I was doing,
Washing them clean with soap,
The soup on the stove brewing,
I began to wipe and mope.
There was a cut on my thumb,
That flamed and burned but didn't bleed,
I had been again been dumb,
Twisted the knife more than I had need.
So out came another band-aid,
And on it went over my finger,
Thankfully it was the dull blade,
Blood on my finger did not linger.
And thus soon enough was covered,
My hand with all these band-aids,
Until I became wise and discovered,
I shouldn't be allowed near blades.