Someone I know once wrote a poem about a lobster being cooked. Either because she felt like it, or because she ran out of epic depth and philosophical bullshit, I'm not sure. I was contemplating this on an especially boring class of mine, and produced this:
Swiftly spinning scissor blades
Wasp and willow swiftly wades
through the swaying, whispering grass
begging to be saved.
Many many morning suns
huffing, puffing, having fun
as the spinning scissor blades
and their engine runs.
But wasp and willow shed a tear
and grass is quivering with fear
Noises loud and frightening as
spinning scissors shear.
The thought of sharp objects did lighten up the boredom slightly.
