So You Can Hit Yourself

Fist of fury at the
fortitude of the shy
pinky that it dare not
bend without its partner
the ring finger, smug in
its decoration and
control. No strength of will
nor manipulation
of tendon may force to
kneel that contumacious
appendage without the
so-says-I of that damned
dirty demagogue with
his dominion on the
exterior of the
hand. Frustration. Wasted.
Fine musculature made
worthless. Weep. Scream and shout
"The finger will not bow!"
Dig a hole, deal a blow,
destruct in righteous rage.
The finger will not bow.

Control? The abhorrent abscence calls
for a curling of the digits.