It never fails to surprise me – the number of excuses a three year old can make when they don’t want to do something. They are world class masters in the art of avoidance and distraction, not least when they are required to do something as simple as put on a pair of pants. This poem was inspired by that very experience.
I Don’t Wear Those Pants
Mum says put your pants on
But I say, no.
I can’t wear those pants I tell her
And here’s why, I go:
Chefs wear pants with eggs on
And Builder’s pants have bricks.
A Doctor’s pants have plasters
And a Gardener’s have sticks.
If you’re a Painter you have brushes
And a Vet has mice and rats.
A Teacher’s pants have pencils
A Hat Salesman, he has hats.
My mum just doesn’t get it,
She doesn’t seem to see.
I can’t wear blue pants, stripes or spots,
Those pants all don’t show me.
My pants would need adventures,
They’d need clever plans and codes.
They’d need zooms and zags and ziggles
And twenty-seven modes.
My pants would need to be curious,
They’d have to be able to climb.
My pants would need sparkles and sprinkles
And they’d need to tell the time.
My pants would have super speedy stripes,
And colour-changing frazzle.
I can’t wear the pants my mum chose,
My bum deserves to dazzle.