youth Archives · Blue Fern Press

Shaggy Dog Story

Fritz had a shaggy dog. One day the dog ate his homework. When he told his teacher, she laughed at him. That’s the day Fritz learned to lie.

The child’s hat has never been crushed. Its taffeta bow shines crisply white. She reaches up an unmet hand as she leaves her only ever home.

The pixie cut girl flashed a smile and a sign, ‘Typewriter Troubadour.’ The French twist woman gave $5 for one manually typed word, ‘Hello.’

The backyards all ran together. The boxy little record player spun 45’s. We danced galloping polkas, and our Moms weren’t afraid of the sun.

He told her, “Kangaroos can’t jump backward. You’ll never forget me or that fact.” She’ll remember his acne and earnestness on that hot bus.

Roxy is not an Arabian, Clydesdale, Lipizzaner, or Mustang. She’s a rent-a-ride horse. Ben, 11, is blind. They fall in love at first sniff.

Small Clara loves tall swings. She pulls herself up by the chains, stands on the seat, and pumps defiantly. When she flies, she can forget.

Algebra: The cake is 8 layers high. The girl is 6 years old. The counter is 3 feet tall. In minutes, how long until the cake hits the floor?

It was an ordinary dawn. Sunlight glancing off Tom’s butter knife flashed prisms on his toaster. He didn’t see until his son called it cool.

A quiver of green brightens the blue of wee Cleo’s eyes. She presses her nose against phantom glass. Today she will breach her fragile wall.