I’m sick of learning Lochinvar,
I’m sick of Robert Frost,
Kept stopping by those snowy woods –
Why didn’t he go get lost?

And daffodils and babbling brooks,
I don’t care if they’re pretty,
I’d rather read a wicked poem
About living in my city.

I don’t mind the Highwayman
With that hat upon his brow!
But all that happened long ago,
Doesn’t anyone write about now?

If someone ever asked me
(As if someone ever would!)
I’d tell them what I’d like
To make a poem good.

I’d like a poem about my dog,
Ringitt is his name
(And Ringitt is a currency –
Didn’t know that – what a shame!)

Or a poem about my sister’s friend
(The two of them are three)
Who comes over to our house
Only when she wants to pee.

Or perhaps a really serious one
About dragons and dragonflies
A poem with really serious facts
Instead of only lies.

No poems about pirates please,
I’d prefer one on sport.
Or a super genius child who
Invented a game of thought.

But who’s listening and where can I
Find such poems on the shelf?
Who cares, I know a better way –
I’ll write them all myself!