The Disaster Kid
Listen to Isabel reading Niamh's poem ...
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They call me The Disaster Kid, and yes, I guess they’re right.
I seem to mess things up, but not on purpose – well, not quite.
I’m never not in trouble, but I don’t believe it’s fair:
they blame me straight away. But these are accidents. I swear!
When Mom had an Important Scary Interview on Zoom
I sort of ruined her chances when I burst into the room.
I saw what I had done and tried to tiptoe towards the door,
but then I stood on Lego. And you should have heard me roar.
One time I poured some jam into my Grandad’s garden wellies;
the joke was, Grandad’s feet need something sweet to hide the smellies.
But Grandad didn’t see the funny side, to say the least,
my Mom told me to clean them (and my love for jam decreased.)
I turned up Granny’s radio, to level marked “distortion”
Now this was a catastrophe. Of mega-watt proportion.
She switched her programme on, the noise made Granny’s ears start ringing
and so she sang along: three hours of classic opera singing.
One morning, in the bathroom, I tried Dad’s new shaving foam.
And yes. You know the lesson, here. Please don’t do this at home.
I sprayed it on my cheeks and made a beard around my jaws,
then Dad walked in. He stopped, and said “You’re grounded, Santa Claus.”
On newly painted walls, I wrote with permanent black marker;
this made the moods of Mom and Dad turn infinitely darker.
They sent me to my room, where, with an apprehensive feeling
I knew it would get worse, because they hadn’t seen the ceiling.
Well now you know I find it hard resisting these temptations
and seem to find myself in less-than-perfect situations.
I wish that I could say that I behave well all the time,
but even though I pay for it, I do enjoy the crime……
I seem to mess things up, but not on purpose – well, not quite.
I’m never not in trouble, but I don’t believe it’s fair:
they blame me straight away. But these are accidents. I swear!
When Mom had an Important Scary Interview on Zoom
I sort of ruined her chances when I burst into the room.
I saw what I had done and tried to tiptoe towards the door,
but then I stood on Lego. And you should have heard me roar.
One time I poured some jam into my Grandad’s garden wellies;
the joke was, Grandad’s feet need something sweet to hide the smellies.
But Grandad didn’t see the funny side, to say the least,
my Mom told me to clean them (and my love for jam decreased.)
I turned up Granny’s radio, to level marked “distortion”
Now this was a catastrophe. Of mega-watt proportion.
She switched her programme on, the noise made Granny’s ears start ringing
and so she sang along: three hours of classic opera singing.
One morning, in the bathroom, I tried Dad’s new shaving foam.
And yes. You know the lesson, here. Please don’t do this at home.
I sprayed it on my cheeks and made a beard around my jaws,
then Dad walked in. He stopped, and said “You’re grounded, Santa Claus.”
On newly painted walls, I wrote with permanent black marker;
this made the moods of Mom and Dad turn infinitely darker.
They sent me to my room, where, with an apprehensive feeling
I knew it would get worse, because they hadn’t seen the ceiling.
Well now you know I find it hard resisting these temptations
and seem to find myself in less-than-perfect situations.
I wish that I could say that I behave well all the time,
but even though I pay for it, I do enjoy the crime……
This poem is copyright (©) Niamh Savage 2024
About the Writer
Niamh Savage
Niamh writes poetry and rhyming stories for children, and likes to record them too. Her work has been published in The Caterpillar magazine. She is from Dublin, and works for Ireland's public service broadcaster, RTÉ, as a television broadcast co-ordinator. She has worked extensively in children's programmes over the years.
