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Cross Stitch Poem


CROSS STICH HORRORS
A poem by K. D. Abbott

Today I joined a cross stitch class
And though it may sound dumb
Where once my fingers used to be
I now possessed a thumb

I couldn't thread the needle
And this creates a 'hitch'
For without a threaded needle
You can't create a stitch

The instructor had to thread it
And though it sounds kind hearted
She muttered lots of muffled words
And hastily departed

She showed us how to make a stitch
And where we should begin
But the first stitch ended painfully
Beneath my tender skin

Well, I've never been heroic
And I believe one lady said
The screams that issued from me
Would surely wake the dead

The class was in an uproar
As they crammed to take a peek
For my face was now a deathly white
And my legs were feeling weak

My finger was in tatters
I tried hard not to cry
But the gash looked like a canyon
There was a good chance that I'd die

The teacher yelled impatiently
What she said I'll never know
For I fainted in an instant
When the blood began to flow

The teacher phoned the ambulance
For the wound was very deep
But she said the blood-drenched patterns
Could now be mine to keep

As they placed me in the ambulance
She let out such a shriek
When I tried to reassure her
That I'd be back next week
Cross Stitch Horrors
This poem is protected and Copyrighted to
K. D Abbott 2007. © All rights reserved.


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