Favourite Things

(BTW.....See you later Mr. Jackson, thank you for helping me dust the floor with numerous 9year olds' faces in dancing competitions! You are present in so many of my favourite childhood memories....although with your [alleged] trackrecord for little kids, I should probably be more worried than I am*shrugs*.Thank you anyways....I believe the only people sadder than most of us 9year old 'Dancing Champions' are the many Nigerian women who will now never be able to know your bleaching secrets. So thank you sir, even in death, you continue to Heal The World...and make it a better place. So to you, Mr. Irreplaceable Legend, I'm saying "see you later" not "goodbye" because...."When you’re larger than life, you never can say goodbye, because nobody will let you leave"*)

Another of my favourite poems....and totally unrelated to MJ:

First Day at School

A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)
Why are they all so big, other children?
So noisy? So much at home they
Must have been born in uniform
Lived all their lives in playgrounds
Spent the years inventing games
That don't let me in. Games
That are rough, that swallow you up.

And the railings.
All around, the railings.
Are they to keep out wolves and monsters?
Things that carry off and eat children?
Things you don't take sweets from?
Perhaps they're to stop us getting out
Running away from the lessins. Lessin.
What does a lessin look like?
Sounds small and slimy.
They keep them in the glassrooms.
Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.

I wish I could remember my name
Mummy said it would come in useful.
Like wellies. When there's puddles.
Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.
I think my name is sewn on somewhere
Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.
Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.

Roger McGough


* verysmartbrothas.com