Notes About The Poem
How quickly does a small situation spiral completely out of control when panic takes over?
The Kitchen Hopper
The summer wind blew hot and high
Across a sea of golden rye.
And cornered a sudden, green surprise:
A grasshopper of monster size
Sprang up before his sudden cries.
Through tangled stalks and weeds between,
The wildest chase this field had seen.
He lunged and stumbled, reached and slipped,
Until at last the prize was gripped.
But victory brought some sudden whines—
His palm was stabbed by leggy spines.
The prickling barbs held tight and fast,
Until he wrenched them loose at last.
To keep his trophy safe and well
For morning school and show-and-tell.
He stuffed the bug down deep and tight
Inside his sweater, out of sight.
He sprinted home like a backyard rocket,
With something kicking in his pocket.
He burst inside, his face red-hot:
"Mom, look at this! Look what I got!
It jumped so high, it scratched my hand—
The biggest bug in all the land!"
The words tumbled out in one big breath,
Spoken fast enough to scare you to death.
His mother laughed and caught the spark,
Amused by his hyper-proud remark.
She dropped her towel and leaned in near,
Eager for his breathless cheer.
"Oh sweetie, really? Let me see!
How big could this monster be?"
But deep in the pocket, yarn met leg;
The wool wouldn't let go of the peg.
"It’s stuck, Mom! Wait, it’s coming out!"
He gave a frustrated, sweaty shout.
Yanked and twisted, puffed his chest,
And dragged out the uninvited guest.
He pulled it out into the room,
Totally blind to the coming doom.
But as he held his kicking prize,
A nasty smudge caught both their eyes.
From biting jaws, a dark muck bled,
As grasshopper spit began to spread.
Tobacco-colored spots of goo
Smeared on his skin like a messy stew.
His mother gasped and backed away,
"Oh, what is that?! Gross, no way!"
But with a swipe, the careless lad
Smeared brown slime across his plaid.
He wiped his hand right on his clothes,
From collar line down to his toes.
His mother shrieked in fresh dismay,
"No! Don't wipe that on yourself today!"
Yet still it sat right in his hand,
Just like the clever hopper planned.
With back legs like a coiled spring,
It launched itself on sudden wing,
Shot straight through the kitchen air,
And landed flat in Mother’s hair.
Her easy smile turned straight to dread:
"GET IT OUT! IT'S ON MY HEAD!"
She jumped and shook in wild affright,
Battling the buggy plight.
"IT'S TANGLED UP! OH NO, IT CRAWLS!
IT'S MARCHING UP MY CRANIUM WALLS!"
The scratchy legs would not give way,
No matter how she spun it that day.
Desperate to end the dread,
She grabbed the pinking shears by the bread,
And with a jagged, silver snip,
She ended the grasshopper's trip.
Down to the tile the trophy blew—
A clump of hair, and the hopper too.
The boy knelt down without a care
And scooped the bug out of her hair.
Pinching the green and golden mass
To free it from the tangled thatch.
With gentle tugs and careful prying,
He kept the giant bug from dying.
But once it cleared the knot of dread,
It didn't sit—it flew instead.
It blasted upward from his grip,
Ending its floor-bound, trapped-out trip.
And buzzed around the kitchen ceiling
Set all the mother's senses reeling—
A loud, annoying helicopter,
The wild, untamed kitchen hopper.
They lunged with towels, plates, and brooms
As it zipped around the tiled-floor rooms.
They couldn't catch it low or high,
No matter how they'd jump and try.
Exhausted, Mother waved her hand
And hollered out a new command:
"Throw open wide the back porch door!
We aren't chasing him anymore!
Just wave your arms and make it doubt,
And yell until we scare him out!"
The hopper saw the open blue
And through the screenless doorway flew.
But Mother sighed and touched her head,
Looking at all the locks she'd shed.
With one side short and one side long,
Her DIY haircut had gone all wrong.
The boy could only blink and stare
At Mom’s lopsided, chopped-up hair,
And wonder with a tiny dread:
What’s Dad gonna say when he sees her head?
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