January 26, 2009
By Melodie Grosso, Landisburg, PA

My Mother said “go practice, your skills are not enough!”
I retorted that I thought I've had enough.
“Why must I work, I'd rather play”
(Who cares If I have no money to pay.
College, I think, is lame anyway.)

I have books to read, games to play
Or be busy with the computer today.
For practicing is what I hate most
I'd even pick School over musical notes.

While Mom was on the phone
I ran upstairs and hid in my room.
All week I avoided that thing I hate most
To practice my lesson would be a first.

The whole week was such a delight
I forgot Wednesdays hold such fright
Every morning before 9 o'clock
I scramble to practice all the stuff I forgot.
But my teacher can always tell
and of course she starts to yell
“Did you practice?” she asks
“Why of course” I nod
She raises her brows
“okay” she says “I can certainly tell”

“Why not play your song for me
But wait, it's in the key of B
That has five sharps and you keep playing three.
Please, get off my bench, don't waste my time
Go home, and practice this time!”

I went out to the car with a very sad face
My shoulders were hunched, I was ashamed
Every Wednesday is the same
I wake up with terror, not much has changed
Only this week will make a difference
I think this time.... I'll practice

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