Lord Thimble

Lord Thimble looked over the time fabric
of the universe and laughed.  Ends were frayed
at globular clusters and nebulae, so he had
to sew toot sweet.  But no matter, a stitch here,
a double stitch there, and then the cosmic
time fabric which he had been laboring
on for many moons appeared spiffy to him.

Despite thick fingers, Thimble remained dexterous.
An outré dichotomy, much like a corpulent couch
potato being a successful Olympic diver.
A running joke circulated among the Seraphim
that Thimble’s fingers could never do the
walking through the asteroid belt
without inculcating careening.

Thimble caught wind
of the joke through the gravity vine,
but just stroked his gnarled chin spinach
and harrumphed.  (This caused a comet to break
into pieces which, eons later, would crash into Jupiter.)
No matter--Thimble was pleased as pooh-haw
and looked over the fabric with creative
pride and went hmmmm.  He even
thought of resting, but then
realized he wasn’t
tired.

In the Milky Way, the fabric began to fold,
whereupon Thimble gritted his teeth and was urged
to take a sedative.  Especially at risk was the solar system
of Sol--the Earth and moon and good old Jupiter.
(Thimble was quite fond of this system, having made nine
planets despite knowing that Pluto would someday be demoted.)
So, upon being notified, he grabbed the remote,
flipped off Rays of our Lives, and reached
for his needle and thread.

The Seraphim council around Betelgeuse was abuzz.
“One stitch!” someone bellowed, “One stitch
is all he needed!”  And Lord Thimble, looking
smug and sure as a gamma ray burst,
tilted his head and uttered with aplomb,
“A stitch, in time, saves nine.”

40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
January 14, 2014