THE ZIPPER THAT ZAPPED ME

I once had a zipper, a zip-zappy zapper,

It zipped with a ZZZ like a zip-happy clapper.

It lived on my jacket, all shiny and snappy,

But boy, when it’s moody, it’s not very happy.

It zipped up with glee on a Tuesday at two,

Then stopped with a GLUNK! and refused to go through!

It wiggled, it jiggled, it jammed in a loop,

It gobbled my hoodie into a tight swoop!

I tugged it, I begged it, I gave it a pep—

It burped and it squeaked and it nibbled my step.

It sucked in my scarf and it nipped at my chin,

Then laughed a small laugh from its zippery grin.

It zipped itself backward, it zipped in a curl,

It zipped in a circle and tried to unfurl!

Then WHAM! in a moment, it zipped up my cat—

Poor Mr. McWhiskers got zipped in a hat!

“Now listen here, Zipper!” I gave it a glare,

“You’ve zipped half the hallway, the rugs, and my chair!

You zip without manners, you zip without care!

I’d send you to jail if I just had a spare!”

But Zippers, you see, are a strange little crew—

They’ll zip what they want and they’ll zip what they do.

You think that you wear them, but oh, it’s a trick—

The zipper’s the boss! And it zips you up quick.

So now I wear buttons. They’re slower, it’s true.

They don’t zip my cat or my sandwich or shoe.

They’re calm, they’re polite, and they won’t cause a scene…

Except when they pop off and bounce off my screen.