Poems

Poems. You know ‘em, right?

Shakespeare and that.

And all those words that were puked out,

Undigested, by some old dictionary.

Pick your favourite, Sir said.

Favourite? I thought. Favourite?

I don’t even like one of them!

I jabbed my finger into the book.

That one. It didn’t make sense,

Not when I read it. My head

Started spinning round as the words

Tumble-jumbled like somersaults

In my brain and I wanted to shout ‘STOP!’

But they wouldn’t let me.

I had to look away.

‘What does it mean?’ Sir said.

I shrugged a ‘dunno’ and gazed, confused,

Out of the classroom window.

A fly hummed.

Tennis balls drummed on the concrete.

And the sky was so blue

I could have sworn it was singing.

 

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