Written to the prompt T is for Toy
Not An Inch Of Space
My daughter’s bedroom’s full of toys –
There’s not an inch of space.
And so I thought I’d clear some out
And give them to a place
Of charity, where others might
Then take them home for play
And raise a bit of money for
A good cause on the way.
One thing I hadn’t reckoned on
Was getting past my daughter:
You’d think that I’d suggested
Taking Teddy to the slaughter.
‘Don’t touch my toys!’ she roundly howled
As I approached her room
Armed with several plastic sacks,
A duster and a broom.
‘You don’t need all these toys,’ I said.
‘Just looked at what you’ve got –
You’ve building blocks and jigsaws;
Four stuffed dogs all called Spot;
You’ve marbles and you’ve train sets,
Model planes and boats,
You’ve got at least five farmyards
With cows, pigs, sheep and goats.’
‘They’re mine – I want to keep them!
They’re mine and mine they’ll stay.’
I wouldn’t bank on that, I thought –
Not if I have my way.
I tried again. ‘But sweetheart,
You have so many things –
You’ve unicorns and robots,
A kangaroo that sings…
You’ve bouncy balls and catapults,
James Bond gadget cars,
Astronauts and spaceships,
And aliens from Mars,
A fire engine, ambulance,
A fort complete with troops,
A princess in a tower,
A race track that does loops.’
‘Let me take these,’ I said and reached
Towards a herd of creatures,
All neon fur and massive hands
And quite disturbing features.
‘You can’t take them!’ she cried. ‘They were
A gift from Uncle Keith!’
‘He’s got a lot to answer for,’
I muttered through my teeth.
‘Look, love,’ I said, ‘you can’t keep
All this stuff – it isn’t fair.
There’s boys and girls with nothing;
You’ve toys and toys to spare.
You’ve bricks that stick together
And trucks that come apart,
You’ve puppets, penguins, dinosaurs;
A plastic ice-cream cart;
You’ve got two spiral drawing kits;
You’ve springs that walk down stairs;
You’ve yo-yos and kaleidoscopes;
No end of teddy bears.
You’ve pots of slime, police cars,
A breakdown van, a loom
I’ll have a breakdown soon myself
If we don’t clear this room.
You need more space in here, my love…
You must let some things go.
You’ve dolls of every size and shape
And colour; and I know
There’s dolls in here that should be
On their way to dolly heaven…
So let them go, and get yourself
A life – you’re twenty-seven!
© Carol Carman 2024
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