THE FINGER


Grant Rigby, our shop teacher in school
Was the butt of many a joke,

Like the time someone glued his lumber book
To his hip-pocket, okeydoke,

So you don't believe it is credible?
Like the story about the dead ringer,

I'll tell you the one that I dreamed up --
The disembodied fake finger,

We made rubber molds and plaster casts
Of mottoes, plaques and a figurine

So I decided a fake body part
Might fool old Rigby, (so keen),

I made a mold and a plaster cast
Of my index finger and went

On trying to paint it up to appear
Like something from a shop accident,

When Rigby came back to the shop and saw
My phony appurtenance there,

Lying upon a table saw,
He had perfect aplomb to spare...

Walked straight to it and picked it up,
My ruse ineffective, awry,

He quickly tossed it into the trash
Without even batting an eye.

by D. Edgar Murray