The Lickerpooey

When everybody gets a trophy, they don't have any meaning. Nowadays, everybody getting trophies at the end of a sports season has practically become a ritual. I have a countless number of shiny faux-gold tiny men and women playing basketball and tennis and soccer sitting on my dresser. They lose all their fun- there's no pride in getting them if you didn't actually EARN THEM.

In my adorable little dingleberry of a town, there are sports that the recreation department provides, and this year, I did basketball. I think I'm pretty good at shooting, but here's the thing: I DON'T KNOW HOW TO PLAY THE SPORT AT ALL. I don't deserve a trophy- I know I don't. So this year, we actually got something useful.

A water bottle. With a fruit infuser!!! How freakin' fancy is that! And I know you're thinking, "Cool, cool. Actually, I don't care. What does this have to do with a LICKERPOOEY???", but I'll get to that. See, at school, I usually keep my water bottle in my lunch bag until lunch, and I get a drink from the water fountain if I get thirsty during the day. But I wanted to show off my water bottle with strawberries infused into it, so I thought, why not bring it with me to homeroom? So I'm walking down the stairs from my locker, and I feel this cold thing dripping down my arm. I then see it dripping down the seam of my jeans. And I look down at my canvas messenger bag and it is DRIPPING with this red liquid. Now the fur inside my fancy, comfy, and expensive Uggs is red. I think it's the strawberry, but the strawberry didn't turn the water red. My best friend is on my left- keeping his distance, I may add- and as we walk across the quad and into the science wing, I hear from him a meek little "Why is it red?" He stops with me and I open up my bag, everything red, soaked, and ruined, and pull out a leaky RED pencil case.

Everything else made it out okay (you know, water evaporates, all that stuff you learned from fourth grade science), but my planner is still wet (two days later!) and is ruined. So I am using my third grade writer's notebook. Now, you've seen my embarrassing poems from another third grade notebook. And as you know, I have a twisted mind, so may I present to you my twisted poem…

THE LICKERPOOEY!

At 12:01 AM,
Hear the cries of the Lickerpooey
Cocka-doodle-dooing
Or lacka-quacka-pooing
Or possibly
Meowing
Or lurking
Or screaming

At 12:01 AM,
Hear the cries of the Lickerpooey
Creeping, crawling,
Up on the walls of your room
Leaving flabbergasting
Rainbow slime
Willing to play
With your toys
While you're sleeping

And at 12:32 AM,
Here the cries of the Lickerpooey
Leaving your house
Getting bored with your toys
And know
It's last victim
Was YOU.


I think I would scare myself if my third grade self traveled to the present. She would scare me so, so much...