Poetry for a Thursday

On my "treasure plan," I'm finding treasure all over, every day. One of the best places to look is in my collections of poetry. Here's a gem by Debra Spencer in her collection Pomegranate.  

"First Decade"

Water is not always warm.

If you lean too far out of the high chair, the floor will hit you in the head.

The leaves of geraniums smell better than the flowers.

The safest place to be is in my father's arms.

Every word has its own color.

Singing is like flying.

If you tell Candace Fields a secret, she keeps it.

Sometimes there's nothing to eat but turkey soup.

When they fall into the bathtub, library books make a big splash.

It takes a lot longer to fill a coffee can with shelled walnuts than it does to eat them.

It's worth walking all the way around the block to avoid Timmy Weems.

A baseball card over the hole in your shoe keeps your sock clean.

Everybody else asks their mom first.

No everybody wears the same kind of underwear.

No matter how stuck the bread is, you can't stick your knife in the toaster.

A baloney sandwich smells like lunch at breakfast and garbage at lunch.

If you're only as big as Taro Inoke, they can sew the finger back on.

If you beg hard enough, you'll get the white Keds.

Michael Gilroy's lips feel good against my cheek.

Even Taymor Johnson gets sunburned.

If you're one of the Schumtzes, you have to spit out your pomegranate seeds.

Boys like Louis Trachtenberg make fun of you but give you their cupcake.

I can think anything I like, and no one will ever know.

I'm going to die.

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