The Dictionary Fairy

at night while I lie sleeping
tucked quietly in bed
his tiny feet come creeping
as quiet as the dead

he’s a wingéd little being
smaller than a mouse
he sneaks with no one seeing
through the darkened house

his little wings are dusty
like the books he holds
his breath’s a little musty
and reeks of damp and mold

the Dictionary Fairy
creeps across my bed
and whispers rather scary
things into my head

your vocabulary’s awful,
he hisses in my ear
they ought to be unlawful,
those words that you revere

you sound just like a nitwit
when you say “aiight”
nothing but a dimwit
when you say “that’s tight”

“wicked” means bad morals
and isn’t something “cool”
you’re an insult to the laurels
of your most esteeméd school

what’s become of decent grammar?
have we seen its sad demise?
crushed beneath the hammer
of listening to “yous guys”

then the Dictionary Fairy
opening up his tome,
reads words like “ablutionary”
and “heterochromosome”

all night the wee fiend chatters
foul words into my ears
as if it really matters
if high school takes eight years

© Sarah Whiteley