My Preschool

Each morning, slowly melting out of bed,
While my Dad would drag me into the car.
Watching trees taunt me on the drive I dread,
I'd sit in silence in some land from afar.
After coming to a halt, I would peek,
Just to see the cold, dark, haunted jailhouse,
I'd quickly sink into my booster seat.
But once again, dragged like a helpless mouse
And placed in a room with little monsters.
My nose burned from the monster's rotting poop,
As I ran from beasts I needed to conquer,
I would slip, and was swallowed by the group,
But Dad came for me and my color book
This was my preschool, it was Chesterbrook

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