You don’t much mind the rattle;
don’t care about the ball.
The toy you got attached to
is that godforsaken doll.
Her left arm has a squeaker
I could do without, I think.
The other arm just crinkles.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crink–
Okay, I know, you get it.
And by the way, she sings!
The alphabet, a count to ten, and–
Oh. Just those two things.
But then, I don’t mind hearing
her “voice” from down the hall.
No, that isn’t what bugs me
about that nightmare of a doll.
It’s just that…well, she’s CREEPY,
as all dolls tend to be.
Her soulless eyes wide open
and staring right through me.
Her face is hard and plastic–
which wouldn’t be so strange
if even the rest of her head
was too. Could that be arranged?
But here’s what really gets me–
this part’s a real hoot–
why on earth is she wearing
a freaking monkey suit?
Child, where are your teddy bears?
Did we lose them all?
Please play with them. I’ll bury
this creepy fucking doll.
It might be relevant to mention as a footnote that I spent my entire childhood having recurring nightmares about dolls. The fact that my four-month old’s favorite toy right now is this creepy looking doll in a monkey suit with giant ears (on the suit), a hard plastic face set in a soft head, and an unnaturally high-pitched voice, does not thrill me.