Hate That Cat

For

all you cat lovers out there

and

all you cat haters, too

With special thanks to

Walter Dean Myers

Christopher Myers

Joanna Cotler

Karen Nagel

Alyson Day

and to all the poets

and Mr.-and-Ms. Stretchberrys

who inspire students every day

I hate that cat

like a dog hates a rat

I said I hate that cat

like a dog hates a rat

Hate to see it in the morning

hate to see that

F  A  T  black cat.

Sorry

I didn't know

you liked cats.

Didn't know

you have one.

More poetry?

You probably think

we will remember

what we learned

last year, right?

What if we
don't
remember?

What if our brains shrunk?

What if it's too hard?

But I am glad

you are my teacher

again.

I hope you will

keep moving up

a grade

every year

along with me.

You understand

my

brain.

No, I can't write any more

about my dog Sky.

Maybe all of the words

about Sky

flew out of my head

last year.

I
think
about him

all the time

and I
see
him

in my mind

and some of his yellow fur

is still on my yellow chair

and sometimes I think

I hear him

uh-rum, uh-rum

that sound he made

when he was happy.

But no, I can't write about Sky

a-n-y-m-o-r-e.

Maybe I could write about

a cat

a mean cat

a crazy mean fat black cat.

Although . . . my uncle Bill

who is a teacher

in a college

said those words I wrote

about Sky

were NOT poems.

He said they were just

words

coming

out

of

my

head

and that a poem has to rhyme

and have regular meter

and SYMBOLS and METAPHORS

and onomoto-something and

alliter-something.

And I wanted

to

punch

him.

Another thing Uncle Bill said

was that my lines should be

l    -    o    -    n    -    g    -    e    -    r

like in
real writing

But here is what happens when I try to make them longer the page is too wide and the words get all mumble jumbled and it makes my eyes hurt all that white space the edge of the page so far away and in order to get all the words down that are coming out of my head I have to forget the commas and periods or I have to go back and stick, them in, all over, the place, like this, which looks, if you ask me, stupid, but if you write short lines, a person knows where to breathe, short or long, and I hate to read, those long lines, and I don't want, to write them, either.

I wish you would tell

my uncle Bill

all those things you said today

about our own rhythms

and our own IMAGES

bouncing around in our words

and making them POEMS.

And yes I understand

that if I am ever the

President of the United States

I might be expected to write

very very long lines

but in the meantime

I can make my lines

short

short

short

if I want to.

But even if you told

my uncle Bill

all that stuff

he wouldn't believe you.

He likes to argue.

My mother likes my

short

lines.

She runs her fingers

down them

and then

taps

her lips

once, twice.

And I think I understood

what you said about

onomoto-something

and alliter-something

not HAVING to be

in a poem

and how sometimes

they ENRICH a poem

but sometimes

they can also make a poem

sound
purple
.

Purple!

Ha ha ha.

Okay, okay, okay

I will learn how to spell

ALLITERATION

and

ONOMATOPOEIA

(right?)

and I will practice them

just in case I ever

need them

to ENRICH

something.

Ready?

Um.

Um.

I can't do it.

Brain frozen.

First you need to have

something to write about.

You can't just

alliterate

and

onomatopoeiate

all over the place

can you?