The Friend

Shall I say to my forefinger:
“You ought to work with your thumb
and middle finger to hold
the pencil in place?”

Shall I say to my left hand:
“You are generous and kind
to give the money to the right hand”?

Shall I claim my hammerless hand
is non-violent for refraining
from taking the hammer
and striking my arm?

Shall my little finger grow
little eyes, arms, imagine itself
floating above my head
singing a song
about its independence
from my other fingers –
then reattach itself
stating how it ought
to be working with them?

Shall my heart likewise
grow lips and eyes,
with a complacent smile
say it can pump blood to its content
without a thought to
what other organs
do or fail to do?

So I say, my friend –
I’m not generous and kind to you,
no vice or virtue plays itself out
between me and you…

There’s only
a single intelligence

only the Friend

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