Scissor Gremlins
I own ten thousand scissors,
(Or nine—who keeps score?)
They vanish, I think at night,
leaving me to buy more!
They giggle from the edge of somewhere,
Snicker from the back of the drawer—
While I’m reduced to kitchen knives,
cutting becomes a barbaric chore.
I chafe my yarn with butter blades,
I poke my thumb in pain,
And still those shiny silver fiends
Escape me once again!
Oh, Scissor Gremlins, laughing so,
Your mischief knows no bounds—
You hoard my shears in secret caves,
And dance in scissor rounds!
So if you see them creeping away,
All giggles, glint, and glee—
Please tell them I’ll forgive them all…
If they’d return just three.
This poem was inspired by my daughter in law who was overheard complaining about not being able to find her scissors though she possessed more than she could recall.

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