A Cut is but a Fair Excuse (Poem)
Note from the author: I do not have much experience writing verse, as my main trades are fiction and non-fiction prose. I was nevertheless inspired to write a poem after a violent incident occurred in the kitchen. Some of the story contained in the poem is true; some of it is fable. Which is which I leave up to the reader to decide. Consider this an experiment, a trial, a sketch or practice, rather than a finished piece. The poem is a mere attempt at poetry, hopefully not the last.
A cut is but a fair excuse
to take a rest and mind abuse.
For how do you think you would feel
if you were used without appeal?
Like this here finger on my right,
whose nasty cut is quite a site.
Oh pointer finger, how you diced!
and how you pinched, oh how you spiced!
Your friends can help (they manage fair!),
But their precision can’t compare.
Your grace is learned not in a night,
But only years can set it right.
But when I turned my thought to end
the dinner soon with none to mend—
a kitchen spotless while I eat
so I could sooner go to sleep—
the path to hell was marked so steep
with good intentions hard to keep!
For rather than to end my clean
a fate awaited rather mean.
So set on soap and sponge and speed,
the thought of you quite mute indeed,
I turned a blade through towel’s deceit,
and ‘cross the cloth cut through your meat.
That sharpest slice was rather neat,
but none too nice to my defeat—
a slit not felt by late surprise
but rather watched before my eyes.
And still I now recall that scene
a million times, that blade so lean
come fore your plump and precious skin
and come across so deep within.
Oh pointer finger on my right
the feel of peel gave such a fright.
For though the cut be but a pinch,
my fear gave thought that ‘twas an inch!
And so instead to give it time—
for pressure ‘lone would make it fine—
across the hall I ran so fast
and gave my door a hardest blast
and hollered out for 911
to come ‘fore out me life might run!
“Say mister, mister, come right quick!
For I have fallen awfully sick!”
Upon my door came three hard knocks,
from two young men with golden locks.
And in their arms a stretcher stretched
for quite a cut on quite a wretch.
But one small thought came to the rash:
“To take me there would cost me cash.”
And so I asked the boys right there
if they my wallet’s weight may spare.
Two-thousand dollars was the price,
and so my thought was hardly twice.
Instead I called a yellow cab
whose driver drove an awful drab.
And when I asked if he could speed—
I was a girl in pain, indeed!—
he didn’t even turn his head
and started to doze off instead.
The scene inside the doctor’s place
sent pallor to my pallid face.
For when I showed my finger there
behind me stood a trag’dy bare—
a man with holes cut from his throat,
a child upon his shoulder smote,
a man with blood come from his cough,
a lady’s leg come clean right off.
What could I say for their dismay?
Quite awkward then, I couldn’t say.
And so I didn’t give a word,
But out from her instead I heard:
“My leg, my leg,” she groaned with sighs,
“this girl right here feeds ears with lies!
She doesn’t have a cut in sight,
and all with her seems quite alright!”
“I do, but it is hidden here!
And though I’m still, I’m filled with fear!”
I tried to answer quick with ease,
but with my words she was not pleased:
“Girl, all you do is cut this line,
when others here don’t fare so fine!
Do you think I could do the same
to you when I have legs so lame?”
“It was a fair mistake I made,
and of you I won’t be afraid!
You may not have the usual set,
but I can see your meanness whet!
For pity doesn’t make me blind
to how you’re crude and not so kind!”
And so we argued for some time,
until there came a little sign:
a little monk not four feet tall
came in and had a little fall.
“Oh brother, brother! What is this?!
This step right here you had to miss?!
You came to bless this dying girl,
but now the plan’s gone all awhirl!”
Indeed he had a cut quite strange,
but in his face he had a change!
For from his cut came three small birds,
who tweeted sweet the following words:
“A cut is but a fair excuse
to take a rest and mind abuse.
For how do you think you would feel
if you were used without appeal?”
The legless lady gave a shriek
and lost the other leg so weak
when from her chair she gave a jump
and gave her hip a hardy bump.
The monk gave pause and stroked his beard,
because he found this awf’ly weird.
How could it be that she could lose
a leg and not just get a bruise?
“A miracle!” he shouted loud.
But to her ears, it wasn’t sound.
“A miracle?!” she shouted back.
“Will someone punch this stupid hack!”
But when she tried to swing at him,
a fate awaited rather grim:
for from her shoulder came off clean
a precious arm and fingers keen.
“Oh now, wait, this isn’t right!
You can’t just chop all limbs in sight!
I beg you cut that section out,
‘cause I can’t tell what it’s all about!”
I hear your pleas, but first I bleat
that you should check your meter’s feet.
And secondly, I’ll grant your plea
because I really quite agree:
a cut would do this story well,
and so I live again to tell:
A cut is but a fair excuse
to take a rest and mind abuse.
For how do you think you would feel
if you were used without appeal?
Like this here boy, with chin so cleft,
and whom his lovely lady left.
She did not like his chin at all,
and so she gave this boy a call.
“I need to cut you out my life!
You’re such a bore and quite a strife!”
He didn’t know quite what to say
and so he gave his phone away.
This cut he made to never try
to call this girl for whom he cried.
But then a simple cut as such
would change this boy a bit too much.
For not a month from such a muck
he ran away, became a monk,
sang songs with birds who loved him so,
and learned to fin’lly let her go.
And in that month, well, listen here!
For something happened rather queer!
The girl who broke his heart so big
began to eat like quite a pig.
She didn’t make the cuts he had,
and so, for that, became quite sad.
“Oh, how to bring him back to me?
A man’s attention’s all I need!”
She thought and thought until one day
a crazy plan would come her way:
to get the monk to love her so
first something special had to go.
She cut her leg right off so then
the monk could come and love again.
A blessing real was all she’d need
to make the boy her loyal steed.
We know that that did not quite work,
and so I beg you, please don’t shirk:
A cut is but a fair excuse
to take a rest and mind abuse.
TBC