Friday, April 28, 2006

poetry Friday

(The font for this is supposed to get increasingly larger as the poem progresses, but frankly, I'm just too tired.)

I woke Up This Morning-

I woke up this morning
at quarter past seven.
I kicked up the covers
and stuck out my toe.

And ever since then
(that's quarter past seven)
I haven't heard anything
other than "no".

They haven't said anything
other than "Please, dear,
don't do what you're doing"
or "Lower your voice."

Whatever I've done
and however I've chosen,
I've done the wrong thing
and I've made the wrong choice.

I didn't wash well
and I didn't say thank you.
I didn't shake hands
and I didn't say please.

I didn't say sorry
when passing the candy.
I banged the box into
Miss Witelson's knees.

I didn't say sorry.
I didn't stand straighter.
I didn't speak louder
when asked what I'd said.

Well, I said that tomorrow
at quarter past seven
they can come in and get me
I'm staying in bed!

-Karla Kuskin