Tuesday, February 23, 2010

three poems, age 7

The Hotdog.
listen to my story for it's funny
though it's dumb
once when i ate a hotdog
i saw blood upon my thumb
i thought it was
a papercut
but you must understand
it was just a splat of ketchup
that had splatted on my hand

i could not pull a weed
so i named it fred
is it sour grapes that i cried when he was dead?

The Toad.
in a tank at school there is a fat and warty toad.
just as cold and wet and lonely as a rock beside the road.
when the teacher brought him in
he gave my classmates joy and gladness.
but to me, he seems to be
the very soul of sadness.

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