Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

The Seven-Fingered Man

I met a man the other day with seven fingers on each hand;
In all respects but that he seemed to be a normal sort of man.
"Good day," said I, most pleasantly, "It is a lovely Thursday morn."
That seven-fingered man, he looked at me, quite sad and all forlorn.
"You mock my plight," he said, "with hidden meaning in your clever phrase:
Why mention Thursday in your speech? Because it's one of seven days?"
How dare you greet me in this way, with cruel intent in your address?
You used that subtle turn of phrase to tease, and fill me with distress!"

Perplexed, I stared at him for just a bit; I thought this quite absurd,
That he should read sadistic meaning in my simple, friendly word.
"Not so," said I, "I never meant to hurt or cause you any shame,
The number of your fingers matters not - to me it's all the same.
And just to show the goodness of my heart, I'll take you out to lunch,
So join me at the diner down the street to have their special brunch!"
"Oh, no you don't," the man exclaimed, "I know exactly what you mean,
When you say "special", it's because my digits' sum, it yields fourteen.
And though I might be odd in hand, that doesn't make a handicap,
So keep your "special" comments to yourself, you cruel and twisted chap!"

"No, no!" I then exclaimed, "That isn't what I meant at all to say!
I simply meant, their prime rib platter is the special of the day!"
He glared at me and then he shouted loudly, "Prime? Did you say 'prime?'
To mock my digits indivisible is such a horrid crime!"

And now, I do confess, I started getting quite perturbed with him;
It seemed no matter what I said, my words were twisted on a whim.
"You know," I said, "your digits might be prime, but five is prime as well,
So quit your foolish shouting, please, or else I'll also start to yell!"
For several seconds then he paused for silent, meditative thought;
I hoped I'd gotten through to him - Alas! My hopes, they came to naught:
"I note," said he, "you speak iambically, with fine octameter -
I cannot help but think you're prejudiced against septameter!"

I stomped away without a pause to shake his seven-fingered hand;
I knew no matter what, he'd take offense, and wouldn't understand.
For lunch I had the dinner special, and I donned my special bib,
And wished the week had one more day for munching on composite rib.

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