Teenage Wasteland

There was a kazoo that lived in a shoe,

Not smelling the stench nor moving an inch,

Having neither ability nor the agility

To do even these in that shoe.

Close by lived a shirt, stained with mud and with dirt.

Not knowing its neighbor, the shirt was in favor

Of using the ground on which comfort it found

For sleep by which it was held deep.

There was also a bed, not far overhead,

On which covers were strewn, where was also a spoon—

Out of place though it seemed it was happy and beamed

When the sun would its great circle run.

There were papers scattered everywhere, a textbook here, a pencil there.

The curtains were closed on just one side, the chest’s drawers all open wide.

They didn't mind chaos and valued the loss

Of order within their borders.

A small, red deck of cards had no proper regard

For its box lying under some socks;

And some pants on the floor, right in front of the door,

Would block any person who knocked.

For he who doesn't know what this poem’s to show

He will know what I mean in the room of a teen,

For there he may stand in the mystical land

Of the shoe and the little kazoo.