This might sound conceited or weird, but I kept laughing while I was writing this poem. Percy seemed to have a really bad sixth grade year, and I think this would be how he would write. You'd have to give me your own opinion of it sometime. Enjoy, and yes, I can write better than this.

Insert Word that Rhymes Here

A Great Disaster

By: Percy Jackson, Grade 6

1. Siting at the table

Anxiously a-waiting

Mom: Turn off the cable!

Scarred for life, birds mate-ing

2. Sunlight seen threw window

Smels wafering to me

Mouth begins to water

(Insert word that rhymes here)

3. oh no! what had happened?

i hear crash. oh my god.

in kitchen, I see Mom

saying worse than "my god"

4. Blu food laying on the floor

Do we have enough flour four more?

Mom gives threatning glare at question

And (insert word that rhymes here)

5. Mom: leave!

Watch Tv!

My insides breake

At sight of


(Insert word that rhymes here)

6. Alas, no treat

For young Percy

Cookies destroyed

7. Step dad lurking

Angry at mom

Who is mad at

The wet floor four

Making her fall

And dropp the snack

8. Percy does not have treate,

But one glass of cold milk

Will a stranger he meet?

(Insert word that rhymes here)


"You wanted to see me?" Percy asked when he reached the teacher's desk.

Mr. Collin kept his voice low so as not to disturb the class while they worked, but he still spoke in a harsh tone. "What is this? A joke of some sort? Insert word?" he held up the poem he was grading.

"No," Percy answered, a bit surprised and hurt. "Sir," he added. "It's the twenty-first century, sir. I know Robert Snow didn't use the phrase 'insert word', but it's completely revolutionary; you should try it sometime!"

"I told you to write about a disaster, and when I said disaster I meant hurricanes and tsunamis and earthquakes."

Percy leaned over the edge and whispered, "But everyone would have written about that. It's lame. You said something that means something to us, and my mom's blue cookies getting ruined means disaster to me." Mr. Collin simply blinked in disbelief. "Have you tried them?" his student asked.

"Yes, yes, yes. All about personal interpretation," the English teacher continued irritably. "But you did not follow my directions about rhyme, steady beat, and spelling."

Percy simply held up a hand, smiling. "There, my teacher, you are wrong. You see in stanzas one, four, five and eight all end in rhymes. Stanzas two, three, and seven have the same number of syllables, and stanza six has no spelling mistakes. I'm sure; I got Grover to check for me."

Mr. Collins was floored by Percy's confidence and assurance that he had done the homework correctly, when he clearly had not. Without another comment he graded the poem, handed it back, and sent Percy to his seat.

"You seriously tried to pull that on Collins?" Grover whispered next to him.

"It was worth a shot. I hate English." He rested his chin on his book.

"The only language you been speaking since you were born."

Percy made an unintelligent sound. After a few moments he sat up, wearily. "Well, at least I got an A," He said in a low tone; he showed his poem to Grover.

"Not to be mean, but I think your dyslexia is acting up. That's an F."

"I know. I'm just trying to hold on to what's left of my dignity."

"You have none; you're fly's open."