To My Gryffindor Slanket
O smooth-sleeved, soothing, sanguine
Source of soft comfort, and long rolling sighs of warm tea and scones
Served on the smallest of teacups and saucers,
You bring me comfort in reversed arms and lingering folds of extra material
Wrapping, wrapping, and wrapping me
So that I may sink into your licensed languorous ways
And be the Sorting Hat’s greatest triumph,
The Gryffindor watching from off the couch,
The pipe cleaner wand that swishes and flicks
The transformed familiar to my dainty cup.
And as I rise from the couch,
And pause Harry’s motion on the static screen,
You, trusted slanket, will follow, form, fix yourself to my amble to the hot-tub,
And wait nearby as I descend the greenish boiling waters,
Soupy with the cave troll and his sketchy hygiene,
And ease myself onto the fuzzy-furred grout.
And when I leave the cauldron of bacteria,
You’ll warm me against the night,
Weave me to my couch,
And join me in my repose.
This was written for me by my co-worker today. Yes. I almost fell out of my seat laughing so uncontrollably.