I often tell my story of “The Hand,” as part of my brief experience as a Boy Scout. (See Post #150). Over the past month or so, I’ve been encouraged to retell this story many times, as people seem to enjoy it. Keep in mind, I was about 10 years old when this actually happened, and I really don’t know or remember the people involved or the actual outcome. It was the end of my Scouting experience, and I honestly don’t know if it was ever reported as an accident or even investigated. I decided to write a couple of poems about the story, hoping to preserve its circumstances for years to come.
The Hand
Scouts gather round,
It’s the tale of “The Hand.”
It is a scary story,
As you’ll soon understand.
.
This Campfire tale,
Now much in demand.
As an old Indian warrior,
Lost his right hand.
.
All you little kids,
It hides in the dark.
Can strike at any minute,
In this very park.
.
It might grab your neck,
As you sit by the fire.
It’s out for revenge,
Your throat its desire.
.
You can hide in your tent,
Poised with Boy Scout knife.
Beware of “The Hand,”
It could take your life.
.
You can see the fear,
In the younger Scouts.
Is “The Hand” for real?
I’m sure there were doubts.
.
It’s quiet in the woods,
But no one can sleep.
No one really knows where,
“The Hand” might creep?
.
Flashlights shining brightly,
All huddled in one tent.
Impressionable kids,
A moment to resent.
,
An older scout,
But not very bright.
Sticks his hand underneath,
In the middle of the night.
,
There’s stab after stab,
And a scream in the night.
The ambulance is called,
His hand a bloody sight
.
What have you done?
Our scout leader cries.
We’re all in shock,
What if he dies?
.
The Scout Motto,
Is “Be Prepared.”
What else could we do?
We were scared.
.
We pack up the camp,
The Troop disbands.
For all I know that woods,
May now have two hands.
.
Did I earn a First Aid badge?
Or learn to camp out?
No, I never had a chance,
To be an Eagle Scout.
.
Copyright 2017 johnstonwrites.com
See my next post (#289) for the sequel called “Eagle Scout.”
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