The Silent Type
I speak in snowfalls,
And of all places, in California.
The tourists get quite annoyed and can't understand it
But what's it to them?
Disneyland is still able to operate;
Maybe it can put me on that cold metal table,
Find the anaesthetic and the snowploughs and the scalpel
And discover Pandora's real box, somewhere in "the big mountain";
After all, they say it's a small world.
―But that box is very fragile!
(Or so said it's packaging when it was delivered
"Handle with care" may as well be stamped on my forehead
As I'm shoved in with the Styrofoam,
Meeting Pandora, of all people, somewhere along the way;
"Don't you just love California?
It's like I never opened it!" she would happily announce.
…Poor thing, she's still in denial.
― Uh Oh. There's a blip on the radar.
I feel sorry for the weatherman,
Because that's my blip.
A scarf anyone? Or maybe some skis?
How about packing tape? It's a nice touch with the Styrofoam,
I have to admit.
(It would have been useful the first time around).
Don't get the shovel!
If you clear away the snow then you'll be left with the box!
The real box.
Don't break me in order to get at it!
Don't break it in order to get at me!
That's right, put the shovel down;
The snow will melt eventually,
And seeing as you forgot the tape
I'm very breakable at the moment.
But I'll pretend not to be
Because this is California;
I've heard that the snow melts quickly here
(My friend Pandora told me so);
Although I'm very cold right now
And the tourists even colder,
I'm sure that all of that will change.
"Miss, are you alright?"
― See? A ray of sunshine has already taken me by the hand.