Wednesday, January 23, 2019

Green Beans: The Story of Vegetables in a Plastic Plate

The day my baby brother was born,
I ate green beans from a plastic plate.
It was covered in tin foil wrap.
July 24, 1980 was the summertime date. 
My grandparents cooked vegetable soup,
And it sat in the middle of the kitchen table.
It looked quite gross in the glass jar,
And my stomach felt upset and unstable.
But the neighbor brought green beans,
Wondering when my brother would be home.
My third birthday was two days later,
And I had “Happy Birthday” July syndrome.
With balloons and streamers and chocolate milk,
We played many rounds of “Duck, Duck Goose.”
On the orange-checkered kitchen carpet,
We ate a train cake with a candy caboose.
But my brother wasn’t home yet,
So I opened my gifts and waited for my mom. 
My dad burned the cheese sandwiches,
And I tried my very best to stay calm. 
When my baby brother finally came home, 
He looked so tiny and incredibly small,
But he never stayed in the crib alone. 
He climbed from his bed and up the wall. 
And as he got older, he ate down the house. 
He loved ice cream, desserts, and special cuisine.  
He liked pepperoni pizza and Stromboli wraps, 
But his favorite food of all was green beans. 

Copyright 2019 Jennifer Waters

Musical Chairs: The Story of the Last Person Standing

Twelve chairs in a circle
Give you each a place to sit,
But if we take a chair away, 
One of you must quit. 
Eliminate a musical chair
And eliminate a person.  
Music plays with the game, 
But each round makes it worsen. 
Why don’t you shuffle here?
And then you can shuffle there?
If you take my seat from me, 
It doesn’t seem altogether fair. 
The last person standing 
Is the winner of the game, 
Or everyone could sit on the chair,
And nobody loses all the same. 

Copyright 2019 Jennifer Waters

Friday, January 4, 2019

Raccoon Danger: The Story of a Night Creature

Most people think the daylight sun is the best, 
But Raccoon Danger loves the night, not a bit of rest. 
He scurries through the bushes and looks at the moon. 
He wears a black mask and likes to sing and croon. 
Underneath the starry, starry never-ending sky, 
He feels the safest in the night, and I know why. 
The night has a beauty that the day cannot hold.
Its poetry is extensive, and its paintings are bold. 
The planets come out like a connect-the-dots game. 
Ride a shooting star like a bright beaming flame. 
Have a snack or two underneath the dark yonder. 
Almost like Raccoon Danger, let your heart wander. 
The night will greet you well, just as the day, 
And you won’t be in danger, no matter what people say. 

Copyright 2019 Jennifer Waters