I'm hiding underneath my bed today.
I'm staying 'til the pickles go away.
Perhaps you think it all is rather silly
That vegetables can make my spine go chilly,
But I can feel the pickles watching me,
My salty, slimy, greenish enemy.
It's better not to face the sour nightmare,
To be caught by salty snack foods unaware,
So I'm hiding underneath my bed today,
And I'm staying 'til the pickles go away.
I conquered all my fears of man and beast,
But pickle fear has steadily increased.
I sleep without a nightlight in the dark.
I faced a giant squid and hungry shark.
I overcame a phobia of cheese,
And wearing shorts that show my nobby knees.
My bravery was at the max, it seemed.
Then a pickle jar was opened,
And I screamed.
I'd conquered all my fears of man and beast,
But fear of pickles only had increased.
Now Father drags me out from under bed,
And past the fridge that's full of pickle dread.
He drives me to Maroo's Exotic Pet,
Where I see a thing that makes me REALLY sweat,
A giant, warty pickle that's alive -
A terror I'm not sure I can survive.
Then Father takes the lesson much too far,
Puts Nicholas the pickle in my car!
I'm wishing I was back beneath my bed.
That spooky pickle's messing with my head.
It's not the sort of pet that I would choose,
But Dad would not allow me to refuse.
Been living with a pickle for a week now.
I'm learning that they're kinda' cute somehow.
When you get to know a fellow,
Then your feelings start to mellow,
So I'm hangin' out with Nicholas today,
And I'm starting to think
pickles are okay.
This is another poem idea from a kindergarten class I visited earlier this year. Kindergartners must have a lot to worry about. I got loads of suggestions, from all the kindergarten classes I visited, for poems about being afraid of things – pickles, mustaches, “plops”, a battle, talking cats, and more. I don’t know what a plop is, but I guess life can be a bit scary when you’re so small and still learning how the world works. I’m hoping this poem can help all those little ones that run screaming when they hear the lid unscrewing from a jar of salty greens. Pickles are more scared of you than you are of them, and they’re not so bad once you get to know them.
This poem is actually a prequel to one I wrote last year for the same kindergarten teacher’s class. Search for Nicholas Pickleous on Google or check my poem archives to see what Nicholas looks like.