Believe me when I say that the teaching-life’s okay.
I survived it many days because I brought bananas to the fray.
I taught within the monkey house and now’s my time to grouse.
Sixth graders are the little monkeys
Small and fast and full of funkies
Seventh-grade are chimpanzees
Who grab and eat whatever they sees
And the eighth, well, they are the gorillas
Who throw their poop and make school thrillers.
And though it makes you crazy and mean
And you feel like life is full of beans
You learn to love the monkey house
Even the bully and the louse
Entertaining them with stories and tasks
Which makes them smile and drop their masks
You trick them into a little learning
And maybe keep the school from burning
And long years end with coos from doves…
They have become your little loves.
Catch a Falling Star 
For bad poetry, that’s pretty durn good! lol!
My poetry is supposed to be so bad that other poets can always say, “At least my poetry is better than Mickey’s!” It figures it would turn out to be so bad that it’s actually good. Mickey fails again.