Toyshop

Ladies and gentlemen,
Younglings of every ilk,
Step right up,
To our humble abode of trifles,
Our house of silly little playthings,
A prison of giggles and vivacity,
We’ve got a toy for every ill,
Teddies and rocket ships and broken bits,
Plastic soldiers all on parade,
Building sets and clowns and consumerism,
So walk our halls of fun and dead smiles,
Shiny eyes following you as you peruse,
Oh yes indeed,
You should see it at night,
These shelves writhe like a gaggle of eels,
Wood and plastic coming to life.

A Broken Toy

I’m a toy,
Did you know that?
I’m not exactly old,
But entirely mishandled,
By a cruel former playmate,

I’m sat isolated in this toybox,
It’s been so long,
Since anyone played with me,
I’m the defective doll,
A workshop wouldn’t be enough,

Poorly put together,
Batteries running low,
A frayed drawstring,
Chipped paintwork,
Mental health blemish,

Occasionally a girl will take me out,
Filling this wooden heart with hope,
Only to assess the damage,
With often shallow eyes,
And disgustedly launch me back to my box,

I’ll remain in the dark,
In this mahogany cell,
And collect dust,
As any child could tell you,
Nobody wants the broken toy.

Toy Box Blues

Oh little toy soldier,
Why do you cry?
Wooden hands held tight to your face,
Gluey tears oozing southward,
Unheard sobs in the toy box.

Oh little toy soldier,
What are you afraid of?
Build by corporate talons,
Driven onward by unfeeling authorities,
Led to fight for your spiteful toy box state.

Oh little toy soldier,
Grab your pop gun.
It is time to wage war,
On all of those other toy soldiers.
They are of different toy box colors.