Now, isn’t this special, I thought,
Opening the card from my son,
As a musical tune I got,
Smiling, I hummed along in fun.

I called my husband in to hear,
And he began smiling as well.
The card filled us both with good cheer -
Such thoughtfulness made us feel swell.

Shortly, I set the card aside,
And waited for the tune to quit
Playing its music of yuletide.
There was no “on/off” switch on it.

But still it continued to play,
And there was nothing I could do.
The music played on night and day,
And never was the darn tune through.

Behind the closed microwave door,
We put it to silence the tune.
At breakfast, we heard it once more,
And then, again, eating at noon.

After a week had come and gone,
We were both at our wits ends.
We sought help from everyone,
Visiting relatives and friends.

We pressed it, shook it, tore a seam,
And yet we were still mystified.
At times I was ready to scream,
All logic the darn card defied.

Under a blanket, in a chest,
As a keepsake it’s been stashed.
On quiet nights, we hear it best –
Our son says it should be trashed.


 

© RickMack (Rmrickmack@aol.com) * The poem is based on something that really happened to me (Marilyn). RickMack is the author.

 



   






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