The School Day Begins    

     It's Monday morning at 7:01.
     You’re still half asleep; your homework’s half done.
     Your shower is cold; your oatmeal’s dry.
     Your mother forgets to kiss you good-bye.
     You’re walking to school; it’s thirty degrees.
     Your fingers won’t work; your toes and ears freeze.
     Your zipper is stuck; your left sneaker squeaks.
     Your backpack strap snaps; your soup thermos leaks.
     You slip on school steps; you trip in the hall.
     The toilet floods in the bathroom stall.
     The gym door is locked; library’s the same.
     The principal greets you by the wrong name.
     Your classroom is hot; the coat rack is packed.
     Your bean sprout is dead; your clay pot is cracked.
     Your pencils are dull; the sharpener jams.
     Your fingers get crunched when your desktop slams.
     Your math partner’s gone; your neighbor is rude.
     Your teacher’s again in a crabby mood.
     The morning bell rings; it is 8:01.
     Come cozy up to the whiteboard,
     Another school day’s begun.