My mate,
his fate
is late
for the gate.
At school
he’s a fool
and used like a tool.
In maths he wrote two plus 7 is four
And the head-teacher’s knocking at the door
She shouted
She pouted
Saying he was bad
But, my mate was glad
That he got attention
And still no detention.
We walk home together
This girl called Heather
Calls us weird
It’s just what I feared
We looked at the sky
Too soon we said bye
When I got home,
My mum started to drone
All about the newspaper
And this great baker
She droned on for hours and hours
I could’ve climbed 100 towers
I definitely didn’t do that
I just picked up her new hat
And threw it at the wall
It bounced off and flew down the hall
I went to bed anyway
And wished tomorrow would be a better day,