Why do I have to clean my room? a poem by, Jack Prelutsky

Why do I have to clean my room
when I would rather play?
The crayons scattered on the floor
are hardly in the way.
I almost never trip upon
my basketball or drums,
and I don’t pay attention
to the cake and cookie crumbs.

Why do I have to clean my room?
I think my room looks nice.
There’s pizza in the corner,
but its only half a slice.
I'm not at all concerned about
the gravy on the chair,
my piles of model planes and trains,
my stacks of underwear.

I will admit some bits of clay
are sticking to the wall.
I scarcely even notice them
and do not mind at all.
Beneath my bed there’s just a wedge
of last weeks apple pie,
and yet I have to clean my room...
I simply don’t know why.

Selected by, Exavier and Veronika

“We chose this poem because it had rhyme and it was also funny. It reminds me of having a mess in my room with everything on the floor.”