I Hate Wind Chimes

A poem about unfortunate gifts

Photo by Kalon on Unsplash

They gifted us a monster made of clay

disguised beneath a cardboard cloak, worse

We opened it on Christmas Day — gasped,

Then tucked the cold, clanging thing away

On New Year’s Day I heard it chime, tho’ it lay

On thick carpet, tangled in its strings. I cried,

“What’s that awful noise?” And my spouse replied:

“It’s nothing dear, don’t fret—it’ll be okay.”

The truth was darker: the gift had strayed

From Sedona, land rocks so red, and vortexes.

Our wealthier relations love, I guess,

The wind. We were, in short, dismayed.

Although I lobbied to re-gift it, the day

Arrived to mount the Frankenstein somewhere.

So its tentacles hang free above a quiet chair,

Tongue-tied, silent, and spooky as the grave.