"With sincere apologies to Elizabeth Barret Browning," by Amy Giglio
Moon Sand, how do I Hate thee?
Let me count the ways:
I hate thee with the depth and breadth of my soul.
I hate thy granules of superfine
Mold-able sand which
Permeate every crevice in my home.
I hate that thou dost not come with
thine own storage containers
(Dost not the Play Doh do as much?).
I hate that when my children blend thy colors
Thou turnest an ugly shade of puke.
I hate that mine offspring cannot keep from
Spilling thee all over mine carpet,
Grinding thee into oblivion until thou becomest one
With the fibers of mine wall to wall berber.
I hate that because of thee I have run mine Hoover
Repeatedly over the same places on my rug,
Desperate to extract thee
To no avail.
To those who might ponder bringing mine children
More Moon Sand into mine hearth and home,
I beg thee, please, leave it at the Toy R Us or the Target.
Offer them a gift of Play Doh instead, I pray, lest
We burn out the motor of mine despondent Wind Tunnel.
Else bring me a Dyson.