In school we’re learning lots of things
that make us really smart,
like Reading, Writing, Science, Math,
Technology, and Art.
There’s Music once or twice a week,
Computers every day,
plus Spelling, and Geography,
and Recess, when we play.
We take some time for Typing,
and we also have P.E.
I think that’s almost everything;
the rest is History.
I’m feeling sick and getting worse.
I think I’d better see the nurse.
I’m sure I should go home today.
It could be fatal if I stay.
I’m nauseated, nearly ill.
I have a fever and a chill.
I have a cold. I have the flu.
I’m turning green and pink and blue.
I have the sweats. I have the shakes,
a stuffy nose, and bellyaches.
My knees are weak. My vision’s blurred.
My throat is sore. My voice is slurred.
I’m strewn with head lice, ticks, and mites.
I’m covered in mosquito bites.
I have a cough, a creak, a croak,
a reddish rash from poison oak,
a feeble head, a weakened heart.
I may just faint or fall apart.
I sprained my ankle, stubbed my toes,
and soon I’ll start to decompose.
And one more thing I have today
that makes me have to go away.
It’s just as bad as all the rest:
I also have a science test.
Homework, I love you. I think that you’re great.
It’s wonderful fun when you keep me up late.
I think you’re the best when I’m totally stressed,
preparing and cramming all night for a test.
Homework, I love you. What more can I say?
I love to do hundreds of problems each day.
You boggle my mind and you make me go blind,
but still I’m ecstatic that you were assigned.
Homework, I love you. I tell you, it’s true.
There’s nothing more fun or exciting to do.
You’re never a chore, for it’s you I adore.
I wish that our teacher would hand you out more.
Homework, I love you. You thrill me inside.
I’m filled with emotions. I’m fit to be tied.
I cannot complain when you frazzle my brain.
Of course, that’s because I’m completely insane.
I overslept. I’m running late.
My mom is making such a fuss.
If I so much as hesitate
I probably will miss the bus.
I grab my socks and underwear
and quickly pull on all my clothes.
I haven’t time to comb my hair
or brush my teeth or blow my nose.
I wolf my breakfast, kiss my mom,
and barrel madly out the door.
I’m feeling anything but calm.
I’ve never been this late before.
I run like crazy down the street.
I check my watch. It’s almost eight.
I wish I’d had some more to eat,
but, man, I simply can’t be late.
I barely make it there in time.
To miss the bus would not be cool.
I wouldn’t mind except that I’m
the guy who drives the kids to school.
Our teacher’s a hippie,
like from some old movie.
He likes to say “trippy,”
and “far out,” and “groovy!”
He dresses in tie-dye
and bell-bottom pants.
He listens to hi-fi.
“The Twist” is his dance.
He says, “psychedelic!”
He’s truly old-school.
He may be a relic,
but, boy, is he cool!
Our teacher likes Minecraft.
She plays it all day.
She tells us to study
so she can go play.
She’ll dig in her mine,
going deeper and deeper,
then fight off a skeleton,
zombie, or creeper.
She’ll engineer buildings
from dirt, wood, and stone,
then go out exploring
the landscape alone.
She’ll build and collect and
she’ll run, jump, and swing.
There’s only one problem…
we don’t learn a thing.
I tried to do my homework
but a show was on TV.
A song was on the radio.
A friend was texting me.
My email chimed, and so, of course,
I had to look at that.
It linked me to a video
of someone’s silly cat.
I watched a dozen videos,
and then I played a game.
I almost didn’t hear her
when my mother called my name.
I looked up at the clock
and it was time to go to bed.
I didn’t get my homework done;
just other stuff instead.
I hope my teacher listens
to the cause of my inaction.
It’s really not my fault the world
is just one big distraction.
My mother does my homework.
She thinks it’s loads of fun.
She says that she’s just “helping” me
but, soon enough, it’s done.
We sit down at the dinner table
every single night.
She answers all the questions
and she always gets them right.
And now and then, she’ll tell me
I should go and take my bath.
When I get back, I find she’s done
my science and my math.
You’d think that I’d be overjoyed
to never have to work.
But every time she “helps me out”
I nearly go berserk.
I ask if I can do it, but
she shrugs off my requests.
So all my grades are crummy
since she doesn’t take my tests.
Hello, my name is Madison.
I live on Lincoln Street.
I’m in the state of Washington.
I think that’s pretty neat.
My middle name is Kennedy.
My last name is Monroe.
My name has got more Presidents
than anyone I know.
My father’s name is Harrison.
My brother’s name is Grant.
My mother’s name is Reagan,
and Taylor is my aunt.
I go to Eisenhower School.
My family drives a Ford.
That’s way too many Presidents
to ever be ignored.
It can’t just be coincidence.
It’s not some chance event.
When I grow up, it’s obvious…
I’ll be the President!
Our teacher’s not a zombie.
She’s not the living dead,
although she’s looking ragged
and her eyes are rather red.
She shuffles to the classroom.
She slowly drags her feet.
She shambles to the whiteboard
looking broken-down and beat.
We listen to her plaintive moans.
We see the way she strains.
We hear her mumble mournfully
about the students’ brains.
But we know not to worry.
We never get upset.
She’s always like this when she
hasn’t had her coffee yet.