On sewing, poetry, and bad limericks
- A friend of mine has a "poetry slam" every year for her birthday; her boyfriend solicits the entries. He leads off with a sample, and sets the bar pretty low, e.g., "I think that I shall never see, a poem with leaves and bark like a tree, etc." with apologies to Joyce Wilmer. Some folks write actual *poetry.* I have few skills in that area, and this year's entry was dashed off in about five minutes... but it was well-received nonetheless, and I was asked to share; thus said, here it is for your amusement:
*A Paean to the Last-Minute Costume Project*
There once was a mad chick from Boston
Said, "New togs by tomorrow? No problem!"
Plunged she right in, 'till she stuck with a pin
Her thumb, which then bled 'till t'was costin'.
It pained her and she did forswear it,
She cried that she just couldn't bear it,
'Till a Band-Aid she found, and she kicked at the ground,
And said, "Damn me, now I'll have to wear it!"
She searched 'till she found a new needle
And uncurled from her position fetal
Threading the eye, then fabric did fly;
Her efforts could not be called feeble.
She snipped and she stitched and she panicked,
The game soon to start, she was manic;
The dress, it got done, but it hardly was fun,
The curses she muttered, satanic.
A moral, this tale there but be--
That mad chick, you see, I was she!
When worse comes to worst, I guess it's a curse:
To bleed on the fabric, you see...
(A minor footnote to this tale:
Blood shows on fabric that's pale.
You think there's a reason t'wear black out of season?
One shan't ever leave them a trail...!)
~ Kate Bunting, c.2002
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