Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Poem 1

Criss-cross applesauce
sitting on my pockets

snapping fingers
begging for attention

brother playing
sister reading

all I'm doing
is observing

I will be like them
one day

I whisper in my mind

Tall and fast
smart and old

wiggle my toes
scratch my head

slouch my back
"sit up straight" I hear her yell

bored, bored, bored, bored

flower, tree, butterfly
I wish I could grow my own set of wings

I want to fly a plane
I want to jump out of a plain and fly to earth

I want to shoot off like a rocket
I want to learn how to shoot a gun

I want to arrest bad guys
I want to be a hero...

I wonder what he is playing,
I wonder what she is reading

Criss-cross applesauce
sitting on my pockets...

And off I go

-Amy Strop-
~This is my poem about a childhood experience of being put in time-out~

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