Day 122: Spinning Top

Spinning Top
by
Matt Zurbo

Little Herriet never realised,
when she talked to her toys,
that they often talked back,
in the way they made their noise.

Ding-a-ling!

Clunk!

Ka-pssssh!

Then one night, when she slept,
they talked amongst themselves.
The slobber-soaked textas,
bouncing balls and garden elves.

“This is what I think,”
the spinning top declared,
to the stuffed wombat,
building blocks and teddy bears.

“Soon we’ll be out-grown,
we should tell each other tales,
before our parts are lost,
and our pieces start to fail.”

“You first,” said the doll,
already missing one leg,
“Agreed!” insisted the puppy,
that always wet its bed.

“Me…? Oh… Okay then,”
the spinning top beamed.
“When I’m not spinning,
You all look on the lean.”
(Spinning top on its side. Looking at all the toys.)

“You all seem dull,” it added.
“I’m very sorry to confess.
“But spin my cord, and WOW!
You all look your very best!”

“What a crazy idea!”
cheered the wooden frog.
“To me you’re all on lily pads,
or sitting on old logs.”

“When I’m still I’m dead,”
admitted the spinning top.
“But when I am spinning,
Oh…!
I don’t ever want to stop!”

“Colours blur, smiles stretch,
I feel happy, strong.
It’s as if, some strange way,
I drag you all along!”

“Any of you can do it,
my spinning is a dance,
I like to think of it,
as a dizzy romance.”

ABC blocks then balanced,
on their pointy bits.
The unicorn, kids books,
all pushed onto their tips.

The cat then chased a moth,
across the playpen floor,
and everybody span!
Span like never before!

“I hear music!” said the bell,
spinning inside the ball.
“I feel light,” laughed hippo,
before he began to fall.

Some span and span and span,
others tripped and bumped,
knocked into each other,
wobbling to a slump.

Every toy felt dizzy,
but, somehow, also free.
“This!” called a jigsaw piece,
“Is just how life should be!”  

Eventually the spinning top,
and both of the maracas,
were the only ones till spinning,
as if nothing else mattered.

Every toy danced and cheered,
for one or the other.
A spinning contest to share,
every toy now a soul brother.

Soon enough, near to dawn,
each toy fell to dizzy sleep,
the spinning top last to drop,

(with a happy sigh)

at its owner’s feet.
(Kid yawning/stretching, sitting on edge of bed, spinning top at feet)

 

 

The End

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