I only like people exactly like me.
I never like people like you.
I’m not fond of people like him or like her.
I dislike all those people too.
The people I like are like me to a tee.
They look and they sound like me too.
They talk like I talk, and they dress like I dress,
and, clearly, they do what I do.
You probably think that I’m picky and rude.
You may think I’m sad and alone.
And normally you would be perfectly right,
but, lucky for me, I’m a clone.
While at the sofa factory
I nearly broke my spleen
when I accidentally fell in
an upholstery machine.
I almost died that fateful day
but I survived somehow.
And I’m looking even better, too,
since I’m “recovered” now.
Here is the house
on the street in the town
where the downstairs is up
and the upstairs is down.
The people who live here
all stand on their heads.
They sleep on the ceilings
and can’t reach their beds.
The basement’s the attic.
The roof is the floor.
They climb up a ladder
to crawl through the door.
Their pets run in circles
because they’re all dizzy.
This house is confusing
and everyone’s busy.
The downstairs is upstairs.
The upstairs is down
since twenty tornadoes
blew into the town.
I made a hat from fur and felt,
a feather, and a leather belt.
I topped it with a pretty bow
and lots of ribbons, just for show.
I held it up, admiring it,
then tried it on. It wouldn’t fit!
I pushed and pulled with all my might,
the front, the back, the left, the right.
And yet, no matter how I tried
it wouldn’t fit. I nearly cried!
I yanked it off and yelped because
I saw then what the problem was.
I’m such a dolt, I had to frown.
I’d made the darned thing upside down!
Bubble wrap, bubble wrap,
pop, pop, pop.
Wrapped around my bottom.
Wrapped around my top.
I’m double-wrapped in bubble wrap
It’s covering my clothes.
It’s wrapped around my fingers.
It’s wrapped around my toes.
I’ve wrapped myself in bubble wrap
exactly as I’d planned.
But now I’m tied so tightly,
I can barely even stand.
I’m having trouble walking.
I can hardly even hop.
I guess I’ll have to roll today.
Pop, pop, pop.
While strolling down the beach today
I came upon a lamp.
It was dusty, it was dirty,
it was dingy, it was damp.
It appeared that all it needed
to restore it was a scrub,
so I dug it from the salty sand
and gave a little rub.
In a moment it was glistening.
Then, right before my eyes
there appeared a purple genie
of incalculable size.
He was massive and magnificent
and glorious and grand,
and he bowed and said dramatically,
“Your wish is my command.”
It was then I did the stupid thing
I now regret I did,
for I know I’ll never be again
an ordinary kid.
I considered just a moment,
then I looked him in the eye
and I asked that giant genie,
“Would you please make me a pie?”
Today I decided to make up a word,
like flonk, or scrandana, or hankly, or smurred.
My word will be useful and sound really cool;
a word like chindango, or fraskle, or spewl.
My friends and my teachers will all be impressed
to learn that I’ve made up a word like extrest,
or crondic, or crambly, or squantion, or squank.
Whenever they use it, it’s me that they’ll thank.
They’ll call me a genius and give me a prize,
repeating my word, be it shimble, or glize,
or frustice, or frongry, or frastamazoo,
You’ll see it on TV shows one of these days.
They’ll use it in movies. They’ll put it in plays.
They’ll shout it from rooftops! The headlines will read,
“This Kid Has Invented the Word that We Need!”
I’ll make up my word, and I’ll share it with you,
and you can tell people from here to Peru;
the old ones, the young ones, and those in between…
as soon as I figure out what it should mean.
I started on my homework
but my pen ran out of ink.
My hamster ate my homework.
My computer’s on the blink.
I accidentally dropped it
in the soup my mom was cooking.
My brother flushed it down the toilet
when I wasn’t looking.
My mother ran my homework
through the washer and the dryer.
An airplane crashed into our house.
My homework caught on fire.
Tornadoes blew my notes away.
Volcanoes struck our town.
My notes were taken hostage
by an evil killer clown.
I had a shark attack.
A pirate swiped my homework
and refused to give it back.
I worked on these excuses
so darned long my teacher said,
“I think you’ll find it’s easier
to do the work instead.”
I don’t know what to do today.
Perhaps I’ll go outside and play,
or stay indoors and watch TV,
or take a bath, or climb a tree.
Or maybe I’ll go ride my bike,
or pick my nose, or take a hike,
or jump a rope, or scratch my head,
or play a game, or stay in bed,
or dance a jig, or pet the cat,
or drink some milk, or buy a hat,
or sing a song, or read a book,
or change my socks, or learn to cook,
or dig a hole, or eat a pear,
or call my friends, or brush my hair,
or hold my breath, or have a race,
or stand around and slap my face.
I’m so confused, and bored, and blue,
to not know what I ought to do.
I guess that I should just ask you.
So, what do you think I should do?
I was sitting by my window
as I always do each morning
when a strange thing started happening
without the slightest warning.
It began by raining buckets,
several dustpans and a broom,
and a box of sponges landed
near the window with a boom.
Several mops appeared from nowhere
And with playfulness and skill
They paraded in formation
and they danced upon the sill.
Then a dozen cans of cleanser
and a hundred bars of soap,
spun in circles ’round my bedroom
like a spiral gyroscope.
They did pirouettes and pivots.
They performed a song-and-dance.
Then they finished with a combination
wiggle, waltz and prance.
Then they just as quickly vanished,
turning cartwheels ‘cross the floor,
they went bounding out the window
and they tumbled out the door.
I have no idea what happened,
so I guess I’ll just assume
this is someone’s way of telling me
that I should clean my room.