My New Friend: A Poem

Working at the store today,

I came across something interesting,

a friend of sorts.

He had little inky eyes,

and a thin wry smile.

Do you want to be my friend?

I said.

Why, maybe I would,

he said.

We had fun, he danced around.

I just stood there and laughed.

I told him a job needed done.

The slicer needed working.

While I sliced, something happened.

My friend, he started to scream.

I winced as he bled.

It was all my fault.

My friend, my index finger;

was dead.