Tabitha Rainwater is my whole name.
I’m age 12 if it matters to you, all the same.
I might as well live in Timbuktu.
My town is called Sunshine, even though I’m blue.
‘Cause down the stairs and into the basement,
My parents hide things that need replacement.
At first glance, it’s a normal room,
With a table, a couch, and a short wicker broom.
But then a door lingers with its handles and hinges.
When I look at its size, my little toe cringes.
On the other side of the basement door,
Is a dangerous place that you fear to explore.
Tractors need parts; benches need screws.
Carpets need cleaning—so much to reuse.
Trunks store old clothes. Piles of chairs.
Bed frames are bent. Guitars need repairs.
It’s supposed to store things like boxes and books.
The last time I looked, I found a dragon with hooks.
His toenails were so long that he could hang from the ceiling.
As hard as I tried, this gave me a really bad feeling.
I tried to tell Mama. I tried to tell Dad.
No one would listen. It made my heart sad.
One day its tail slid beneath the door.
Mama wasn’t watching the basement floor.
I wondered if the monster needed a snack.
I had to keep him kind, or he might attack.
So, I ran up the stairs to the kitchen table.
I grabbed a banana to keep him stable.
I ran back to the basement and stood by the door.
I hoped I would live another month more.
I creaked open the door and peered into the dark.
The room looked scary, mean, and stark.
I stood there for a moment, searching for the dragon.
All I saw was my broken three-wheeled wagon.
“Where are you, Dragon? I brought a treat!
I thought you might need something good to eat.”
Then I felt a thud, a scrape, and a smack.
Every time he moved; the dragon got flack.
He stepped from the corner and hung his head.
Mounds of trash fell, and his right wing bled.
Before he could breathe wrath and fire,
I gave him the fruit and tried not to perspire.
Then I looked for a bandage to mend his wing.
I used ten newspapers and hoped it didn’t sting.
I wanted to ask him how he found my basement,
Especially the other side that felt like displacement.
If he had a tunnel that led him back to his cave,
Maybe I could go with him if I was feeling brave.
Then he stepped to the side, and I saw a hole.
It must have been his tunnel that he dug like a mole.
I dove down the passage without a second thought.
Who cared about the junk that my parents had bought!
All of a sudden, he followed my lead.
I tried to walk slowly, but he had his own speed.
When I came to the end of the long, cold channel,
I wished I had brought my jacket with flannel.
I poked my head into his dark, empty den.
He had no Mama or Papa. I looked again.
No wonder he liked the other side of the basement.
He was probably waiting for some sort of placement.
He needed a buddy to dig in the dirt.
I imagined his feelings must have been hurt.
It’d been more than a day since he flew in the air,
And somehow that seemed sort of unfair.
So, I jumped on his back, and we took to the wind.
I knew Mama and Daddy would soon be chagrined.
I held on tight and tried not to look down.
My family and home would now be renown.
We soared ‘bove the clouds and up to heaven.
The minutes it took to get home were seven.
I counted the seconds on my hands and my toes.
What the dragon was thinking, nobody knows.
He set foot in my yard and caused a great quake.
The front lawn was split. The whole house did shake.
Mama opened the door, and loudly she cried,
“Why me? Oh my gosh! I feel like I lied.
The dragon was hiding in the basement for years.
I didn’t tell you in case you shed tears.
Your father disliked him and locked him away.
He piled high broken things to keep him at bay.”
In a moment, the trash in the house all made sense.
My daddy thought the mess would be used for defense.
But really, we missed out on a two-winged friend.
Now I had a pet, and the nightmare could end.
Tomorrow, I would call for a big garbage truck.
The other side of the basement would be no more amuck.
Gentleness is now my pet dragon’s name,
So, no one can play a game of shame or blame.
My dragon will have his own bedroom and nest.
We’ll be one happy family with monster-sized zest.
Copyright 2014 Jennifer Waters
Dedicated to my parents, Darlene and John Waters, for giving me their other side of the basement as inspiration.
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