A Poem by Gwen Thompson

My cousin David is visiting,
For Thanksgiving,
He has so many toys,
But I guess that's common with boys.

He has a little sister,
Named Olivia who wears Hollister,
She loves surfing a lot,
And has a shirt with a robot.

Their father is a Colonel Jones,
Who's practically skin and bones,
He has cavalry troops,
And chicken coops, and his ears are shaped like cones.

Humptey Dumpty was egged to jump,
Like I was egged to sit on the bump,
It hurt a lot,
And now I feel like a tiresome blot.

Mom always metes out the meat,
On Thanksgiving day,
But around there are these flies,
I would like to nullify.

I think Mom's cooking lobster tonight,
Yay, but I think I'll fight.
I believe I'd rather embroil,
Then icky lobster, boiled.

I have a craving for a waffle,
And I know that you have questions,
On why this poem is so random,
And not rhyming in patterning ways.

This girl at school I will not mention by name,
Called me long nose because of it's shape,
School Symphony thinks new speakers will make the Winter Dance more fun,
I think I'd rather eat a cinnamon bun.

My pear I am eating,
After a good beating,
Of rugs all afternoon,
If I don't, I will not get my scholarship boon.

I'm sorry I have to complain about my life on my blog, but seriously, I am kind of annoyed right now. You see, social structure is tough at school, and since I am on full scholarship, I have to work a certain number of hours, and THE worst jobs. Our school doesn't have vacuums, so it's the old rug beatings. Eeeew. People on partial scholarship, such as Neela, they have chores too, but they're not so hard, like making all the beds, and picking up toys in the day care. Full scholarship people, AKA, ONLY me, (well not ONLY me, the cook's daughter works too, but she is older than I am) are treated like scullery maids sometimes.
It feels like it at least. See, there are people who are like VIPs here. AKA, Ruthie Smithens, Rebecca Rubin, and Sonali who have tons of money. Whenever they want new clothes, we have to ask them what they want and pick them up from the store, and when they want to go somewhere, we have to go with them if they can't find someone else. And even if they can, I have to come, or the cook's daughter, to help them with their stuff. Sonali is usually nice about it, but Ruthie is not usually willing to hold a bag or two. Rebecca is definitely stubborn.
Another of my chores is to set the table for all the meals. I have to get up at six, set the plates out in a precise order, and do the same for lunch and dinner. I also have to beat the rugs every Wednesday.
Sorry about all this rambling,
Gwen