hooky  

Mom and Dad, they’re home, I think,

Into the bus, the vinyl smells,

The boy in back begins to stink,

The lunches blend, the diesel swells. 

The swinging latch, it squeaks- the gate

And in, you pop! ‘Come on! We’re late!’

‘ For what? You crazy fool, it’s time for school!’

‘Can we just leave? This place, it blows, you tool!’

The ground, it shakes, the wheels, they move

My friend, he grabs me by the sleeve. 

The back door swings, and out, we groove!

So laughing down the street, we weave. 

You grab some skateboards in a bush

And down the street, aloft we pop

And rolling down the hill, we whoosh!

I don’t think I know how to stop!