The Can Opener

Here is a poem.

It doesn't have anything to do with dating or men. 

Or does it?

Is it all one gigantic, ironic metaphor...??

No, I don't think so.

I am cursed in two ways:

1 - dolphins avoid me - I'll tell you about that later. 

and 2 - I am seemingly forbidden by the gods to possess a working can opener - one that cleanly, evenly and completely opens a can at first try. 

Forget all that, I can't even find a can opener that even opens half a can. 

It is in no small part a bane to my existence. 

I even went all out and purchased an expensive, top-shelf can opener from Steven's.  Might have been Millies.
The packaging claimed 'opens every can, every time'

It never opened one can, not one time.

I still have it. 

I still try. 

It never opens.

I dig chopped tomatoes, refried beans and tuna out of jagged slits with a butterknife.

This is not how life should be.  

I contact Steven's, or was it Millies to explain my plight. 

They CC'd me in on the company's reply, which clearly was not meant for mine eyes.

It said 'get her to show you how she's trying to open the can, i'd like to see this! haha'

As if I

I

I was the one with the problem. 

From this experience (on going to this day) comes this poem:

*Ahem. 

I just want to open a can
Be it tuna, tomatoes or spam
Without making a mess
Splashing my dress
And just about cutting my hand

Believing our fate could be changed
We searched like two people deranged
For an opener we could trust
That would work, and not rust
From our money we did not expect change 

In Steven’s we came across yours,
Its catchphrase, we thought, worth applause
‘Opens every can, every time’
To our ears, was sublime
A fast purchase, then straight out the doors

Excited we stood round the can
The opener held firmly in hand
The handle was turned
And a lesson was learned
The can-opening did not go as planned

The wheels turn quite well at the start
As she gracefully makes the tin part
But then at the turn
The opening is spurned
And two points hold our food in the dark

Opening tuna for lunch causes stress
A partially opened can, must be drained with duress
So I pushed on the lid
And with a great bid
The oil swiftly ruins my dress

We are at the end of our ropes
You’ve more than just dashed our high hopes
For little we knew
What mental harm it would do
To see our cans remain partially closed

We’ve tried the ones that are cheap
And we’ve tried the expensive ones too
But it seems we are cursed
There can be nothing worse
Than a can that won’t open for you 

I just want to open a can
Be it tuna, tomatoes or spam
Without making a mess
Splashing my dress
And just about cutting my hand