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Crappest Maracas.


  
I bet I know what happened. 

There's only so many common faults a batch of maracas* can have. Either the stems all snapped or the innards burst forth. The latter is an amusing image.

I can picture each maraca-buyer** skipping home, delighted with their purchase and desperate to try them out. I said ‘them’ then rather than ‘it’ because they’d never be sold singly. Owning one maraca is weird.

Imagine the glee on the purchasers’ faces as they stand in their respective kitchens, taking their big scissors to the plastic packaging to free the percussion that lurks within; their happy looks soon switching to frustration when the shrink-wrap puts up a fight. I just wish I hadn’t discussed these people in plural as it confuses the image.

How many shakes did it take to release the beans? Was it enough to constitute a rhythm? It would turned their kitchen floor into a death trap. You don't get that with castanets.

I once saw this when I was out walking.



A lonely maraca lurking in the undergrowth is a sorry sight.

*collective term.
**The current US President. 
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