Kira spun the top on Gramma’s kitchen table, and off it whizzed.
Whirring past her orange juice, it teetered side-to-side.
Past her plate, the top approached the marmalade, made fresh from lemons and limes Kira and Gramma picked themselves.
Kira helped stir the sugar — until she tried to eat it and was shooed away.
The top gathered speed as it jumped from table to dish.
There was no escape now — SPLOOSH!
Gramma walked in. She sighed, seeing the marmalade coating the walls and her granddaughter. Gramma reached for the top.
“I’ven’t enough eyes to put on you, Ms. Kira.”