The childproof cap biz

If there’s one thing that drives me completely insane
It’s a ribbed, childproof cap with a twist!
It’s a struggle to jiggle it this way and that
And a terrible strain on my wrist.
Whoever invented this better watch out
Cause my temper is running amok.
If I ever catch up with the unfortunate souls
I’ll bongle them twice with a wok!
If I needed an aspirin for my sore, aching back
By the time I got the bottle cap off
I could be at least 10, maybe 20 years dead!
But I guess I’d be cured of my cough.
And then there’s the matter of tightly screwed lids
On ketchup, and water, and such.
What’s going to happen if kids pop off the top,
Will they perish by drowning in too much?
Most child resistant items are too tricky for me!
If the contents are filled with bad stuff,
Don’t leave them around for wee tots to pick up,
Lock them up or discard them, is that so tough?
And while I am at it can someone please tell me
Why a water bottle carries this information:
Nutritional value, caloric intake,
And a rating by some Icelandic fjord station?
Even ordinary items like a cereal box
Cause me endless amounts of confusion.
When I finally manage to pry them apart
All the insides leap out in profusion.
Just plain Ziploc bags give me headaches galore
When I try to seal off all those creases,
They stick to the right and they glom to the left
While the middles divide in 5 pieces!
And how about boxes packed with Styrofoam sheets
That cushion an object so small
You’d think that the crown jewels were packed up inside
And would crack at the least little fall.
It’s clear all this angst caused me so much distress
I digressed from my original points:
The preponderance of too many cantankerous caps
Has wreaked havoc on most of my joints.
My hands ache with tension, my fingers are sore,
I’m tired, frustrated and riled.
The next bottle cap that traverses my path
I will simply assign to…a child!

Pamela Ross is a frequent contributor. Comments on this poem can be sent to:


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