4 Frankenrhyme

4 Frankenrhyme When I got back from Ms. Coco's room, it was the middle of recess, so I went out to the playground. Andrea was sitting on a bench in the corner. She was writing in her poetry book. Of course. And Emily was sitting next to her, probably telling her how great she was. Of course.

I went over to the swings, where Ryan, Michael, Neil, and Alexia were hanging out. I told them about what happened in Ms. Coco's office.

"Now I have to write a real poem," I said. "I hate National Poetry Month." "Poetry is dumb," agreed Alexia. "Instead of putting criminals in jail," said Neil, "they should force them to write poems." "Or read them," added Michael. "There's only one thing worse than National Poetry Month," said Ryan. "TV Turnoff Week!" we all said at the same time. "I thought all the poets died a long time ago," said Alexia. "Dead poets are the lucky ones," I said. "They don't have to celebrate National Poetry Month." We made a list of things we would rather do than write poetry. Alexia said she would rather bungee jump off the Empire State Building. Ryan said he would rather eat a tarantula. Michael said he would rather have his head get caught in a revolving door. Neil said he would rather listen to his dad's old CDs. Me? I'd rather go to school over summer vacation. But none of that mattered. National Poetry Month was happening whether we liked it or not.

So I needed to write a poem that would beat Andrea and win me a lifetime supply of Zip-Zaps. And I couldn't cheat by using flash cards. "I have an idea," said Neil. "Why don't you just find a real poem in a poetry book and say you wrote it?" "That's a great idea!" said Michael. "Nobody will ever know the difference." "You can't copy something that somebody else wrote," Alexia told us. "That's plagiarism." "HUH?" we all said, which is also "HUH" backward. I never heard of plagiarism.* But Alexia was right. I couldn't copy somebody else's poem. Ms. Coco would probably find out. I would have to come up with my own original poem. "Why bother writing more poems at all?" asked Ryan. "Andrea is sure to win the contest and get all those Zip-Zaps. She wins everything." It was true. Andrea has to win everything, all the time. She has to answer every question first. She has to get the best grades in the class. When we have fizz ed, she has to be the fastest at running, jumping, or climbing the ropes. She

probably has a room in her house filled with all the trophies she's won. Nobody said anything for a million hundred seconds. "I hate poetry," Neil finally said. "Poetry is dumb," said Alexia. "It's hard to write poems when you're chewing gum," I said. "Hey, that rhymes!" said Michael, and everybody laughed. "I can rhyme anytime," I said. "Even when there's no sunshine?" asked Ryan. "Even when I'm on cloud nine," I told him. "Is that a crime? I must decline. Drop me a line, or give me a sign. I'll pay you a dime. That's just fine. They should call me Frankenrhyme!" Everybody laughed again. "Hey, I just realized something," said Alexia. "What?" "Poetry is rap," she said. "It is?" Neil asked. "Sure it is," Alexia said. "Rap can be poetry and poetry can be rap. They're the same thing. They just have different names. Rappers are poets."

"I'm a rapper," I said. "So that means I'm a poet!" "And you didn't know it!" shouted Ryan. Ryan and Michael started beatboxing. I started rapping the first words that popped into my head. I'm a poet, but I didn't know it! And now it's time for me to show it. If you have a lawn, ya gotta mow it. If you start a garden, ya wanna grow it. If you're playing catch, ya have to throw it. If you borrow money, yer gonna owe it.