United We Stand

An Allegorical Poem by PancakeSushi

Photo by Muhammed Hisham on Unsplash

United We Stand

by PancakeSushi

The thumb primly pronounced:
“See here, Mr. Index Finger, we two are most important in function.
Without me, there is no grip.
No fist, no holding tools,
nor bringing sustenance to the belly.
I am opposable, and indisposable.”

The index finger regarded the thumb, and announced: “It’s true, we two
so grandly in conjunction
function as the digits most vital in this body’s work.”

And above, the nose looked down on them.
“Oh, certainly you have such vital tasks. Breathing and smelling, for instance, keys to the survival of us all.”

The mouth sneered in contempt.
“Yes, you should know. You keep us alive…building an appetite for the foods I take in and masticate.”

The index finger leaned close to thumb, looking about suspiciously.
“We both know who does the most work around here.”

Thumb replied, eyes cutting aside:
“Certainly more than those lefties do, ‘tis true. They bring no food, nor paint the house, they occasionally drive…”

Index nodded. “So true, we do the most for this body. And this right hand, even with the feeble pinky and unmotivated ring serves the best purposes for the benefit of all.”

The proud middle finger stood tall, defiance in form: “Without me, intention is unknown. And you certainly couldn’t write, or form a fist, without my contributions.”

A small voice called out from the far side of the body:
“This hand does just as much for us all as you do. Our form and function is identical to yours. We can do whatever you can.”

The right thumb leaned close, in conspiracy, looking across at his opposite.
“They’re all wrong, wired crossways. Their view is skewed, and they always take the wrong approach, coming at a problem from funny angles. They’re just so…different.”

Voices became shouts, protests and pride hurled from both sides, until at last the brain made the mouth speak:
“Listen, we all have our parts to play. No portion of this body is without use. Even the hinterlands have their function…”

The left buttock looked at the right:
“D’ya fink ‘e means us Gary?”
“Must do, all but ignored so often otherwise, Dean.”

A cacophony of calls for recognition came from every corner, each raising a cry for why they mattered more than their neighbor. Each piece knew it was greater than the sum, even the bum.

The feet roared “We’re on ourselves all day! Bearing the load, you all pressing on us, coming down on us, walking all over us.”

The thigh gave a sigh.
“Why are you so sore all the time? You do nothing but bark and complain.”

The back ached, arching in agony.
“Yeah, you’re not the only one pulling their weight around here.”

The right thumb prepared a loud reply, when he and his four cohorts rapidly raised in a vigorous slap to the face, drawing down in a dramatic wiping gesture. The eyes blinked, stunned.
“What was that for? You could’ve warned us.”

“Wasn’t me” answered the thumb.
Must be some involuntary urge.”

High above, the scalp groaned.
“And you wonder why I’m always thinning up here.”

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About The Poetry Posse

A collective of poets writing in conversation. We respond to shared themes, creative constraints, and each other’s work—proving poetry is better when it’s collaborative, not solitary. Each series pushes us into new territory. Join the conversation.

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