I shot a spitball at my friend
who sits three rows from me.
I shot it through a hollow pen
as straight as it could be.
Then happened a most awful thing
I sure did not intend.
That spitball flew another place
and didn’t go near my friend.
It hit my teacher, Mrs. Bell,
and stuck right to her nose!
Now, you can just imagine how
the whole darn class just froze.
My heart was pounding in my chest —
my hands began to sweat.
That spitball was a huge mistake
and filled me with regret.
What happened next was really strange
and still gives me a chill.
Mrs. Bell just stared at me
which made me feel quite ill.
I braced myself for what I thought
would be a dreadful shout.
I braced myself cause I was sure
the woman would shriek, “Out!”
Instead, she smiled and softly said,
“How much is three plus two?”
I was so stunned, I simply said,
“I haven’t got a clue.”
It’s been a whole entire month
since that fateful day,
and I expect you won’t believe
the next thing that I say.
That spitball still clings to her nose;
she doesn’t seem aware,
and just today, I noticed that
her spitball’s grown a hair!
The Lonely Meatball 
This has a surreal charm. It also captures that whole out-of-control thing that is real life for little kids at school. For example, in 2nd grade, we had it drilled into us that we must ALWAYS stand motionless, at attention, during the national anthem. I didn’t feel well, but I stood at attention–and threw up all over the place. The teacher was so mad!
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You poor little kid – and what a horrible woman that teacher was!!! With this poem, I always wonder if there really is a spitball on Mrs. Bell’s nose or if the narrator, for the first time, just noticed a mole on her nose the day he shot the spitball and guiltily assumed it was his spitball. It’s the mystery of the poem for me.
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Duh! I never thought of that angle, at all— though that is so logical an explanation.
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