The exercise:
Write a four line poem that has something to do with: furniture.
Took the family up to Oliver this morning to check out a flea market and a couple of secondhand shops, hoping to pick up a used dinner table or dresser to replace the ones we have here. Found nothing useful, but Max ended up with a $2 maraca and a free toy guitar because of course he did.
It's a pink electronic Barbie guitar that I'm not convinced is working as intended. The batteries were dead when we got it and we'd intended to leave it that way. But then we left him with his grandparents this evening while we went out for dinner and he wanted to take it with him. I can imagine that a few "Not working, it's broken" observations later and fresh batteries were on their way in.
I'll admit that it's not as annoying as I expected it to be. And Max loves it, so it might stick around for a little while before we donate it to another toddler to mess around with.
Mine:
Too small and too unsteady,
It is well past its time to go;
I meant the dinner table...
It applies to Grandma too, though
3 comments:
You haven't said what the guitar's doing (or not doing!) that makes you think it's not quite the intended behaviour for it :) I am amused that you went shopping for furniture and came back with musical instruments though. I can only imagine what happens when you go shopping for food!
Heh, I like your poem, I think I'd have ended it the same way!
Furniture
She said he thought she was part of the furniture;
Indeed, he dusted her each day.
But she never expected he'd check her for woodworm,
Or that he'd throw her away.
Haha, oh poor Max. I bet he was rocking out like there was no tomorrow. If it's any consolation, my brother used to play with a toilet brush when he was little.
Furniture
Four wooden legs still stand,
Marking time by barnacles and desecration.
A haunting image in the deep blue. But, a ray of light,
For even when the world drowns, some things do remain.
Greg - there are three buttons labeled Song 1, Song 2, and Song 3. As best I can tell pressing them does nothing to change what is being played. I might have to look online to see if I can find a manual.
Oh dear! Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Ah well, I guess that's what you get for putting up with being dusted every day.
Ivybennet - oh, Max plays with all sorts of things. This guitar isn't all that bad, and he's too young to care what color it is. He is, however, a little confused when it speaks French to him...
Yeah, maybe I should get on looking for a manual online.
That's a lovely image you've created with your poem. I think I would like to visit that scene :)
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