The Humpledinkus

There’s a humpledinkus in my room.

It began upon the chair.

It grew and grew from week to week

And now it’s everywhere.

It’s purple, green and blue, and red,

And (worst of all) beneath my bed

Is part of it that humps right up

And makes the most atrocious lump

Right in the middle of my back!

And, besides, not only that –

There’s my missing brother Vince

Who’s not been seen nor heard from since

He went in my room to ogle that

Humpledinkus habitat.

Our puppy dog, the family cat,

My little baby sister Pat,

A socket wrench, my mother’s china,

A scratchy old jazz record, “Dinah.”

The humpledinkus ate them all!

My baseball glove, my basketball,

The home computer in my room,

Some schoolbooks and the kitchen broom,

The vacuum and a flower pot

The humpledinkus liked a lot!

It liked the lamp, it liked the shelf,

And then, all by its ugly self,

It made me scream with rage because it

Ate the clothing in my closet!

Each pair of pants and every shoe,

My shirts and all my sweaters, too.

Now, I guess I must go naked,

But I don’t know if I can take it;

To never leave this house, these rooms

Where the humpledinkus looms.       

Now, there’s a lesson to be learned

If you would not be likewise burned

By the humpledinkus who

Could grow from just a tennis shoe that I forgot to put away,

And forgot again from day to day!

The lesson is:

(Need I say more?)

Please pick your things up off the floor!

Marsha Bilderback, 1998