Our mother’s at a meeting
for some big, important deal,
and couldn’t be at home tonight
to cook the evening meal.
She left some short directions
for my sister just to follow.
Instead my sister cooked up things
impossible to swallow.
Like Brussels sprouts in vinegar
and jellybeans in mustard,
an onion-pickle pudding
and a lemon-radish custard.
She burned a stick of butter
’til the house was filled with smoke,
then fried a pound of pepper
with a half an artichoke.
She put a whole banana
in the blender with a steak,
then mixed it up with tunafish
and baked it in a cake.
She stirred some chocolate ice cream
with garbanzo beans and bacon.
A single bite was all it took
to leave me feeling shaken.
We should have ordered pizza
but we didn’t know, alas,
my sister is the only kid
who flunked her cooking class.
Appearing this morning at quarter past nine
they entered our lunchroom and mustered a line.
They seemed to be dancing, or whistling a tune,
then ran out the door with a fork and a spoon.
They quickly came back for a knife and a plate,
not bothered at all by the size or the weight.
They grabbed all the glasses and cups they could find.
They bagged every bowl, leaving nothing behind.
They worked through the morning, till mid-afternoon,
and carried off every last saucer and spoon.
They searched every shelf and they emptied each drawer,
then pilfered the platters and dashed out the door.
They put on a truly impressive display.
They swiped all the dishes and scurried away.
It’s hard to believe, but those ants were so shrewd:
They knew not to eat cafeteria food.
Bernina had a Band-Aid
on her elbow and her chin,
her ankles, knees and forehead,
plus her shoulder and her shin.
Another two were on her ears
and ten were on her toes.
She’d one on every finger
and a big one on her nose.
Her Band-Aids were the coolest
that her friends had ever seen.
A few of them had leopard spots
and some were neon green.
A bunch were lit with lightning bolts,
or stars and crescent moons,
while some had superheroes
from the Saturday cartoons.
Bernina’s now in trouble
for there’s just one little catch;
she used up all the Band-Aids
but she didn’t have a scratch.
I was bitten by a werewolf
with a weak, half-hearted bite,
and became a half a werewolf;
on my left, but not my right.
So now when the moon is halfway full,
my face grows halfway hairy.
And my left-hand claws and single fang
are surely semi-scary.
Now I nearly need to stay up late.
I partly want to prowl.
I’ve been feeling fairly frisky.
I have half a mind to howl.
If you ever see me coming
you should turn and run away,
for the odds are fifty-fifty
you’ll regret it if you stay.
Yes, I may be half a werewolf,
with my fleas and doggy breath,
but I promise, if you meet me,
I will scare you half to death.
Ignore the red rhinoceros.
Forget he’s even there.
Pretend you cannot see him
wave his pom-poms in the air.
Dismiss his purple tutu
and his orange leotard.
If he begins to bossa nova,
pay him no regard.
Do not be disconcerted
by his color and his size,
and if he starts to shimmy
try to stifle your surprise.
Pay simply no attention
to that disco-dancing beast.
Just act as if you find him
not distracting in the least.
Though now and then he startles me
and sometimes makes me squrim,
I’ve practically forgotten
this peculiar pachyderm.
So try to do as I do:
think of something else instead.
Ignore the red rhinoceros
that’s dancing on my head.
Preparing today for the standardized test
our teacher said there was a lot to digest.
We’d have to divide by the square root of three
and learn to spell zygote, façade and marquis.
We’d need to play xylophone, trumpet and flute,
accordion, banjo, piano and lute,
recite all the capital cities by heart
and learn to take rocketship engines apart.
We’d have to speak Latin, Swahili and Greek,
learn nuclear fusion and fencing technique,
remember the fables of Persia and Rome
and crack all the codes in the human genome.
Then just when we thought that our heads might explode
from learning Chinese or dissecting a toad
she told us the very best thing she could say:
that she was just kidding; it’s April Fool’s Day.
When a giant has a haircut
it’s a massive enterprise
due completely to the giant’s
quite considerable size.
To begin an undertaking
of such monumental scope
first the barber needs a scaffold
and a thousand yards of rope.
He’ll need leather gloves and work boots.
He’ll need garbage cans and rakes,
plus a parachute and safety net
in case the giant shakes.
He’ll ascend by helicopter
to the giant’s lofty dome,
with a pair of swords for scissors
and a pitchfork for a comb.
Then for weeks and weeks he’ll labor;
he will cleave and slice and hack.
He will chop and saw and sever
like a raving lumberjack.
Turning forests into wastelands
slashing tangles everywhere,
you may hear him yelling “TIMBER”
as he’s felling strands of hair.
When at last the barber’s finished
then it fills his heart with sorrow
when the giant says, “My hair grows fast;
I’ll come again tomorrow.”
Today we had some weather
like I’ve never seen before,
so I pulled on my galoshes
and I headed out the door.
It sprinkled, first so lightly,
it could easily be mist.
A tornado then came dancing by,
it swung and did the twist.
The fogbanks opened up their vaults
and let out all their fogs,
and the dog pound took a pounding;
it was raining cats and dogs.
It started raining buckets,
then the rain came down in sheets.
I had never seen so many
sheets and buckets in the streets.
I’d planned to watch the weather
and, though gallantly I tried,
when it started hailing taxis
I gave up and went inside.
Our Mother’s at a Meeting
Ants in the Lunchroom
Brandon Branson’s Backpack
Brody the Custodian
Bernina’s Band-Aids
I’m Only Half a Werewolf
Ignore the Red Rhinoceros
World’s Hardest Test
When a Giant Has a Haircut
Today We Had Some Weather