Jack Prelutsky

I found a four-leaf clover and was happy with my find, but with time to think it over, I’ve entirely changed my mind. I concealed it in my pocket, safe inside a paper pad, soon, much swifter than a rocket, my good fortune turned to bad. I smashed my fingers in a door, I dropped a dozen eggs, I slipped and tumbled to the floor, a dog nipped both my legs, my ring slid down the bathtub drain, my pen leaked on my shirt, I barked my shin, I missed my train, I sat on my dessert. I broke my brand-new glasses, and I couldn’t find my keys, I stepped in spilled molasses, and was stung by angry bees. When the kitten ripped the curtain, and the toast burst into flame, I was absolutely certain that the clover was to blame. I buried it discreetly in the middle of a field, now my luck has changed completely, and my wounds have almost healed. If I ever find another, I will simply let it be, or I’ll give it to my brother— he deserves it more than me.

Herbert Glerbett, rather round, swallowed sherbet by the pound, fifty pounds of lemon sherbet went inside of Herbert Glerbett. With that glob inside his lap Herbert Glerbett took a nap, and as he slept, the boy dissolved, and from the mess a thing evolved— a thing that is a ghastly green, a thing the world had never seen, a puddle thing, a gooey pile of something strange that does not smile. Now if you’re wise, and if you’re sly, you’ll swiftly pass this creature by, it is no longer Herbert Glerbett. Whatever it is, do not disturb it.

Deep in our refrigerator, there's a special place for food that's been around awhile . . . we keep it, just in case. “It's probably too old to eat,” my mother likes to say. “But I don't think it's old enough for me to throw away.” It stays there for a month or more to ripen in the cold, and soon we notice fuzzy clumps of multicolored mold. The clumps are larger every day, we notice this as well, but mostly what we notice is a certain special smell. When finally it all becomes a nasty mass of slime, my mother takes it out, and says, “Apparently, it's time.” She dumps it in the garbage can, though not without regret, then fills the space with other food that's not so ancient yet

It appeared inside our classroom at a quarter after ten, it gobbled up the blackboard, three erasers and a pen. It gobbled teacher's apple and it bopped her with the core. “How dare you!” she responded. “You must leave us . . . there's the door.” The Creature didn't listen but described an arabesque as it gobbled all her pencils, seven notebooks and her desk. Teacher stated very calmly, “Sir! You simply cannot stay, I'll report you to the principal unless you go away!” But the thing continued eating, it ate paper, swallowed ink, as it gobbled up our homework I believe I saw it wink. Teacher finally lost her temper. “OUT!” she shouted at the creature. The creature hopped beside her and GLOPP . . . it gobbled teacher.

Be glad your nose is on your face, not pasted on some other place, for if it were where it is not, you might dislike your nose a lot. Imagine if your precious nose were sandwiched in between your toes, that clearly would not be a treat, for you’d be forced to smell your feet. Your nose would be a source of dread were it attached atop your head, it soon would drive you to despair, forever tickled by your hair. Within your ear, your nose would be an absolute catastrophe, for when you were obliged to sneeze, your brain would rattle from the breeze. Your nose, instead, through thick and thin, remains between your eyes and chin, not pasted on some other place— be glad your nose is on your face!