Puppets on her fingers

She only spoke to me
through the finger puppets
that she wore on her hands
like jewelry.

Their tiny faces were bruised
from the keys of her piano,
and none of them seemed in the mood
to chat.

In fact,
they, like a gang
of felt pigmies,
held my head under the dish-water

until I slumped unconscious
to the floor
with wet bits of food
in my beard and hair.