Plight of The Overplaced Child

I’m a bright November boy,

School for me is not a joy!

How I dread to hear the bell,

How I pray for old Gesell.

Dr. Ilg, please rescue me

From this shame and misery.

Teacher thinks I’m rather slow.

I just need more time to grow!

Next to me sits prissy Pearl,

Teacher’s "good" December girl.

Pearl just loves her A, B, C’s—

Wants to learn to make her threes.

I prefer the trucks and water—

Teacher doesn’t think I oughter.

Johnny’s March—he really shines,

Colors well within the lines.

April Smith can write her name

In big round letters, all the same.

Teacher says that I don’t try—

All I do is blink one eye,

She thinks that I am not too bright,

I still mix my left and right!

Teach says I should listen more

And spend less time down on the floor.

I can sing and march and play,

I can paint—but not her way!

I made a person—red and blue

With lots of hair and buttons too.

It was good—but what the heck!

All she said was, "Where’s the neck?"

Teacher’s getting rather riled,

Thinks I am a stubborn child.

Hopes that I don’t have a brother—

Says she couldn’t stand another.

Warns if I don’t pay attention

She is thinking of retention.

That threat of hers it thrills me so,

Then I would have more time to grow.

Teacher—young as I may be—

I do know biology.

Birds and bees aren’t celibate,

And as long as people mate

There will be November boys

Who look forward to school’s joys.

Teacher, hurry to Gesell—

Don’t make all their lives a hell!

By: Kay M. Innes

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