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News and Events
by Levi Weilert 

I’m writing a poem for my fingers
And I know they can’t hear me
Or read what I write
But none-the-less I am writing a poem for my fingers
And there are just a few things I’d like to say
            “What’s up?”...
            “Long time no….
Thanks for picking my nose earlier
            That really meant a lot
I know you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to

But on a serious note
I appreciate your unconditional love
The way you can

             perfectly point
            Peace out
            Push pens
            And count
I think it’s really neat that you can do all these things

            for me
And it’s about time I do something for you
So I’m writing a poem for my fingers…


 To my thumb


So isolated from the others


Standing at attention

To let everyone know that,

             “Hey, everything is going great”


Pointing with a waggle to the  West…East…North…South

To let people know I want to travel

A hitch-hiker’s ride to take me on adventures

Though doing so may get me killed by a stranger

            At least that is what mom always said

A thank you for surviving

infant abuse
Of nighttime nightmares
            You’re just lying out there
                        So let me put you in my

For lighting lighters

Aiding in the making of a pig nose

Allowing me to learn to count to five instead of four


You are durable, stout

            A brute who can wrestle

                       Pull out Plums

                                    tell people to “sit on it”

An impersonator

            Fooling children into thinking

            You are a nose

                        Just ripped from their face


You can take a licking

            And use it for motivation to turn the page


Ah, thumb


For allowing me to twiddle you when bored


For separating me from the other beasts of the world

            I write a poem for opposable you

                        You the thumb


 To the Index

Your comic relief of
Pull my finger so I can
FAR Too long it’s been since you’ve received your proper thanks
For your E.T. healing powers

            “He did it!”

To specify exact locations

“I hurt here…and here…and a little bit here”

 For poking

To see if it is still alive


For Poking

            To the center of a chest


                                    to show I mean business


                        “You son-of-a-bitch!”


And for time-tested scratching technique


For Fabled dam plugging abilities


Aiding the blind to read Brail


For putting your own health at risk

            Trepid testing of temperatures

                        Pool is too cold

                        Coffee too hot

                        The bath…Ahhhh, just right 



            You can tell me which way the wind is blowing

            Wipe away smudges

            Wield wet willies

            Pleasure a woman (myself)…

                        …though I suppose it’s a preference


 You fit perfectly in my ears

            Allowing me to pretend, “I’M NOT LISTENING!”

                        When I really can

                                    Unless, of course, I hum


Working with the thumb you can become


Childhood makeshift pistols, “bang-bang”


A snake-bite pinch

                        “Stay awake!”

A self-loathing critic

                        “Look how fat I am…I’m pathetic”

A metaphorical reality check

            “Pinch me…this can’t be true”

A protector

            Pinch my nose

                        To avoid odors

                        To down disgusting medicine

                        To equalize pressure during flights

                                     or deep sea diving

                                                so my head won’t explode

The two of you can



                        Cold ears

                                     crisp from a winter breeze

                        My cat’s nose when she won’t stop meowing

                                    Though as a write I feel bad about it


You two together pick things up

            That are too tiny


            Too revolting

                        For the others to get involved


You can faint pity with sarcasm as you

             play the world’s smallest violin


 As for the middle

Well …
            “Fuck you too!”
And that’s for the fury of fists from other fingers
That have found it quite funny
To respond to you with a


I do thank you for the ‘snap’

            In conjunction with thumb

                        A handy device


            Get someone’s attention

            Show disappointment

            Illustrate the materialization of an idea

            And Play along with my favorite songs

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