A hippo is bounding around on my head.
Gorillas are banging on drums.
A rhino is charging me full speed ahead
while a crocodile’s eyeing my thumbs.
A rattlesnake’s winding his way up my side.
A tiger is sniffing my clothes.
A grizzly just grabbed me, his mouth open wide.
A tarantula’s perched on my nose.
I’m drowning, surrounded by man-eating sharks.
An elephant sits on my chest.
Yes, that’s how it feels when the teacher remarks,
“Grab your pencils. It’s time for the test.”
Each morning Brianna goes bouncing to class.
She bounds on the playground and springs in the grass.
Her gallop is more of a jump than a jog.
She leaps like a rabbit. She hops like a frog.
Her teachers dislike it, except at P.E.
when Bouncing Brianna can spring like a flea.
She’s always the best at gymnastics, it’s true;
the pole vault, the high jump, and trampoline too.
It’s crazy to watch her on basketball courts,
and yet there’s a reason she’s awesome at sports.
We know why she hurdles and bounces off walls:
For breakfast she always eats hard rubber balls.
Oh, give me the phone,
so that I can call home,
and my mom can come get me today.
I’m feeling so sick.
Get me out of here quick.
Oh, I just need to go home and stay.
Home, home for the day.
Yes, I just need to go home and stay.
For the truth of it is,
teacher gave us a quiz,
and I just wasn’t ready today.
When Sarah surfs the Internet
she starts by checking mail.
She answers all her messages
from friends in great detail.
She plays a game, or maybe two,
and watches a cartoon,
then chats with kids in places
like Rwanda and Rangoon.
She reads about her favorite bands.
She buys an MP3.
She downloads movie trailers
and she looks for stuff for free.
She reads about celebrities
and dreams of wealth and fame,
then watches music videos
and plays another game.
If you should say, “Your time is up.
I need to use the Net,”
she always whines, “I haven’t got
my homework finished yet!”
I’m staying home from school today.
I’d rather be in bed
pretending that I have a pain
that’s pounding in my head.
I’ll say I have a stomach ache.
I’ll claim I’ve got the flu.
I’ll shiver like I’m cold
and hold my breath until I’m blue.
I’ll fake a cough. I’ll fake a sneeze.
I’ll say my throat is sore.
If necessary I can throw
a tantrum on the floor.
I’m sure I’ll get away with it.
Of that, there’s little doubt.
But, even so, I really hope
my students don’t find out.
We got a new librarian this year.
His name is Larry.
And Larry doesn’t know his elbow
from a dictionary.
He can’t suggest a magazine
or help you find a book.
He doesn’t have the slightest clue
of where you ought to look.
He cannot find the poetry,
geography or sports,
and Larry isn’t any help
when writing book reports.
To top it off he’s rather loud
and something of a slob.
It’s really quite bewildering
how Larry got this job.
And yet, despite his cluelessness,
we find he’s pretty handy.
For, on his desk, he always keeps
a giant jar of candy.
Penny Parker’s pencil
is a wonder to behold.
It’s glorious and radiant.
It’s shimmering and gold.
We’re not sure where she got it.
It may be the only one.
It glitters like a crystal.
and it sparkles like the sun.
It’s lined with glowing LEDs
of purple, blue and pink,
and every time she doodles
all the lights begin to blink.
It’s multicolored patterns
are exquisite and extreme,
eliciting such “ooh’s” and “aah’s”
like something from a dream.
Yes, Penny Parker’s pencil
is an undisputed “10.”
But, even more incredible,
you ought to see her pen!
Let me out of the classroom.
Let me out of the school.
I’m not so good at geography.
I would rather be watching T.V.
It’s still twenty minutes till recess.
Lunch is hours away.
Won’t you please, please, please get me out
of the class today?
Someone’s here with a note now.
Teacher’s calling my name.
He says my mother is right outside.
I should go and she’ll give me a ride
to my yearly dentist appointment.
I forgot it’s today!
Teacher please, please, please help me out.
Won’t you let me stay?
Our teacher’s a football fanatic.
It’s all that he has on his mind.
He listens to games on his headphones,
and frets when his team is behind.
He jumps up and down with they’re winning.
He screams when they fumble a pass.
We know we’re supposed to be reading,
but watching him’s simply a gas.
Our principal walked in on Friday,
and he was too angry to speak.
Our substitute started on Monday.
Our teacher’s been benched for a week.
If school were more like baseball
we’d only have to play.
We’d hang out in the sunshine
and run around all day.
We wouldn’t have to study.
We’d practice and we’d train.
And, best of all, they’d cancel
whenever there was rain.