Boy Talk.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Here is how a six year old boy feels about life. A little
bit out of it...butgetting there....Here is Boy Talk.

Submitted: December 16, 2011

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Submitted: December 16, 2011

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Boy talk……

 

 

I have a dog, a cat, a mouse, a talking budgerigar,

A mom and Dad, my brother Chad, and a pedal motorcar.

I have a bike, that I can`t ride, a pair of roller skates,

A house, a tent, a tooth I lent to one of my school mates.

 

I have an Aunt who lives in York, I have some old golf  tees,

I have a doll that talks and walks, and when I squeeze it pee`s.

I have a secret hiding place behind my chest of drawers,

Where I keep a video-tape of Daddy, when he snores.

 

I have a piece of chewing gum, a tadpole in a jar,

A length of string,  a nasty ding on Daddy`s brand new car.

I have a tooth that’s very loose, a bruise upon my knee,

I have a happy feeling when my Grandma comes for tea.

 

I have a school that’s up the road, its never any fuss

To get up early every day,  and catch the yellow bus.

Sometimes when I don`t feel well, and have a grotty throat,

My Mommy sighs and gets a pen to write the school a note.

 

I have a Dad and when I`m bad, it isn`t any fun,

I`m never glad when he gets mad, in fact I start to run.

I`ve known of course when I`ve done wrong, since I was a just nipper

There ain`t no glee across his knee as he clops me with his slipper.

 

I have a Granny who bakes cakes especially for me,

And I can`t wait to have a plate of crumpets for my tea.

I understand to wash my hands before I sit at table,

Then I eat, and eat, and eat………as much as I am able.

 

I have a Grandpa who is sick and mostly stays in bed,

I`m not sure what is ailing him `cos  no-one ever said.

But every night before I sleep I kneel and say a prayer,

“Please God make Grandpa well again, it really isn`t fair.”

 

I have a Jesus picture, I found it in the park,

It`s pasted on my bedroom door to help me when its dark

It`s scary for a boy like me, when I wake up all alone,

But I don`t care with Jesus there,  (just `til  I`m fully grown.)

 

 

Geoffrey Kennell (c)


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