The Blanket that Ate Some People

She started knitting the blanket
On a lovely September day
It was supposed to be a project
To keep the stress far away.

She casted and perl’d and whatnot
For hours on hours on end
The blanket grew longer by inches
Then feet then yards and then

She simply could not stop knitting
The needles threw sparks in the dark
Their clacking became the beating
Of a woolen grey, fuzzy heart.

By winter the blanket had covered
The greater part of three states.
Her neighbors were grateful for warmness
But not of how many it ate.

Yes, the blanket consumed a few people
I guess we had reason to gripe
But the missing, at first, were annoying.
You know, the nosy, loud type.

All winter the blanket expanded
Over mountains and forest and town
It swallowed the whole of Chicago
Before she managed to slow down.

She finally finished in April
And rains caused the blanket to shrink
It receded back to her basket
Where it lives now, today, I think.

The authorities questioned her briskly
But left without any arrest
We kind of miss all the eaten
But agree it was all for the best.

We heard she had picked up the needles
For a summer project this time
I asked her to make me some gloves
Preferably ones that won’t commit crimes.

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Yes, my friends, another poem inspired by one of my friends. To my knowledge, the blanket she is knitting will not become sentient and consume a major city in the Midwest. I have been wrong before, though.

(Photo Credit: Sophieja23 on Pixabay)