We use these objects every day,

But do we ever stop and say

How marvellous we think they are,

Saluting chair and tile and jar?

(Except for those that bring on woes.

This verse may cite a few of those.)

Without the rubber bathtub mat

Whose suction-grip is certain,

We’d wipe out on the porcelain

And fall straight through the curtain.

The dog dish knows of paucity

And over-generosity.

Lint-remover, roll all over

Every kitten/puppy lover.

Upholstered chair, whose print I wear,

Forgive my vacant TV stare.

Picture-hook, what curse belied you,

What dark, malignant forces pried you

Loose from high atop my wall

Before this catastrophic fall?

I’m stretched to the end of my mortal soul:

Life story half-finished, but hard drive nearly full!

From self-suspended picture hooks

Hang photos no one’s sure who took.

In the wastepaper basket,

Intimations of the casket.

Couscous is, of course course,

Too grand a grain for a horse horse.

Pour praise upon the sink’s small plug.

Without it, you’d hear glug glug glug…

Protective radiator cover,

Dusty radiance lover!

Soft and gentle tissue,

You soak up sorrow’s issue.

Post-It note, un-lickable,

Magically re-stickable!

I threw my cell phone into the sea.

Now every minnow pesters me!

Toilet seat, left up or left down,

Is sure to make somebody frown.

Only the toilet-paper holder

Loosens up as it grows older.

Bathroom plunger, half stick, half ball,

Standing at attention, awaiting the call.

Tell me, lowly city sewer,

Are you a stinker or a doer?

Tweezers help you pull out hairs.

When you’re free from other cares.

Lip balm keeps my lips from cracking.

Is it moisture that I’m lacking?

Flap-fly in my underwear –

Good show – but are you useful there?

The deadbolt lock’s a work of art.

It stops the crimes before they start.

Hark, you notched and twisted screw,

This drill can sink in and undo.

Ballerina made of wire and paper maché,

Dancing by night and unwinding by day.

My scissors’ owlish eyes and blades

Snip newsprint fame before it fades.

The simple stapler can make neat

A mountain of small tax receipts.

Though snappy, the elastic band

Will double up to lend a hand.

Accursed double-sided sticky tape,

You set astir my inner ape.

The QWERTY keyboard lets me down.

The way it’s structured makes me frown,

With j and k and s supplied,

But no e on the right-hand side!

When you dot my i and cross my t,

Please, pencil lead, don’t break on me.

Sweet barbecue, I beg you – shout out, “Stop!”

Should I light you but forget to lift your top.

Duct-tape is the soul of thrift,

Holding what remains together.

Really, it’s the perfect gift.

Repair’s no longer heavy weather.

On the window-ledge, a rubber owl

Keeps pigeons from their daily prowl.

My fingernail can scratch and spark

This safety match’s brilliant flare,

Which helps when shadows fill the dark.

Is someone friendly standing there?

Finial supporting my lamp shade,

Basking in the light man-made

Flashy, buzzing neon sign,

Pale moonlight is a friend of mine.

It’s hard to stereotype the safety pin:

Hard hat outside, sharp point within.

In the attic, a needle pulling thread

Briefly paused, and here’s what it said:

“Button, button, bone-white button,

‘Tween your beady eyes I’m struttin’.”

Doorstop mounted on the wall:

Springs, like martyrs, take it all.

Spiraling stove elements, charcoal set in bone,

Do not glow red, I beg you, when I’m far away from home!

On my sneakers are check marks, like beached canoes.

Yet they told me these were running shoes!

Electronic music, jungle, drum and bass,

Indie label artists put sweat upon my face.

My skateboard’s used, but it takes flight,

The trucks hold firm, the deck is light.

Bicycle bell, ring, ring, ring, ring.

With those headphones on, can they hear a thing?

The doorknob twists, the doorknob turns,

A lesson every young child learns

When keen to wander to and fro,

The doorknob makes it all a go.

The doorknob twists, the doorknob turns,

It marks our exits and returns.

You served me well, poor Dixie Cup.

Alas, old chum, your time is up.

If you liked this piece, please follow Ron Charach on Twitter @CharachRon.