Ode+to+My+Battered+Tomahawk

Ode to my Battered Tomahawk

Given to me by my uncle. Red and blue, battered and beaten. Smells like new and as if never been used.

Even now, The tomahawk lays on my shelf. Always ready to use. Brought to all of the Braves games. Enveloped in a sea of fans. Chopping up and down, (boom chop, boom chop) Just as a warrior, who owns a rifle with a bayonet, fights.

After each game, it returns to my shelf. Waiting and waiting, till it will be used once again. Sitting and sitting, sleeping and sleeping. Until once again, it beckons to be used, to demonstrate the chopping of the Braves foes.

How I love this item of meaning, just like a mother relishes her son. And who wouldn’t like such a great item? Only a man with horrible taste would dislike it. - Adam S.