Mechanical Object
My blades, they slash and clash and stir
The whirring and purring goes on as I run,
Purr…purr, a calming noise
The constant struggle between the person and the lid.
I run on High – no, Medium – no, Low – you choose
My power goes up. I feel the persons grip on the lid weakening,
Then BOOM! The lid flies off! Mashed potatoes fly everywhere!
I can hear them plop on the table, on the floor all over.
Something smells like burning hair;
I think it’s me, I’m getting older.
But I’ll smell fine once I’m fixed,
That is, if you take the time to fix me.
I will not give away my identity,
But I will give you a clue,
I blend very well.
