It Wasn’t Me

Peas on my pants,
rice on the chair,
berries on my cheek,
yogurt in my hair,

chicken on the table,
cheese on my plate,
sauce on my shirt,
and that’s just want I ate.

There’s sand on the sofa,
dirt on the floor,
play-dough on the couch,
trucks in the drawer,

marker on the rug
crayon on the wall,
paint on the shelf,
blocks down the hall,

books in the bathtub,
cars in my crib,
sippy cups everywhere
but never with a lid.

So there’s water on the carpet,
milk on the tile,
juice in my room,
all of this while…

mom was cleaning the kitchen.

Uh oh.
I think she’s finished.
Yes, she just walked out.
She’s looking at me.
Her face looks funny.
She’s not smiling.

“Did you make this mess?”

It wasn’t me.
I’m an angel.
I was quiet the whole time.

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