I serve water to one, or lunch to many. Either way, I’m convenient.

Built with rivets and bravado bright, Chrome-kissed dreams of the Atomic Age night. Gauges wink green, red buttons gleam, Tomorrow imagined in yesterday’s scheme. A countdown echoes from mission control, Tin hero aimed for the great unknown. With fire for feet, I leap from the pad, A future promised in magazines ads.

Bells, bells, bells, bells! I hear the jingling and tinkling of bells. Bells! Start with the last two thirds of a famous Hollywood dog, followed by a slick catch or sudden arrest. Next is a god from David Eddings’ Belgariad, then the first two thirds or two fourths of a telephone company. Finish with an atom that is positive it lost an electron.

Swift in flight from hand to board, A tiny spear that soars and scores. With a pointed nose, it claims the prize, In pubs and games, it swiftly flies.

What has five fingers inside , but, speaks with your voice?