Barbara Lydecker Crane: An Alphabet With Attitude

A’s a triangle, awkward on legs,
who’s asking for feet. For serifs, he begs.

B will burst and spatter all
with bubbles landing on the wall.

This creature reaches for its tail,
but it’s not O. The C will fail.

D’s a pie divided in two.
At least she left one half for you.

Pretending he is rising stairs,
this E has escalator airs.

F was a flag to which I’d pledge,
but this one frayed and lost its edge.

Her mouth is always straight and slim.
I wonder why G looks so grim.

H is hungry, not herself;
she holds an empty cupboard shelf.

He rambles on with all that’s new,
but I forgets to ask about you.

Shiny and jagged, J is a hook–
something fish might overlook.

K just kicks around all day.
Soccer stars are made that way.

Judge L always sits up tall–
no leaning left or right at all.

M goes up when he is down,
that mountaineer of high renown.

She is no one, knowing fame
has passed her by. N needs a name.

At being open-mouthed, aghast,
the letter O is unsurpassed.

Professor P prefers to expound;
he puffs his chest and makes it round.

With ink and quill, the O you view
has quickly changed her name to Q.

Rebellious R broke off with P
by growing one more leg to flee.

“Sick of being called a snake”
is skinny S’s bellyache.

T believes his homemade tower
gives him telepathic power.

Waving arms with her demand,
U always gets the upper hand.

V’s not vindictive, but has a point.
Best not to put his nose out of joint.

“I wonder,” said W to V,
“if two of you would work for me.”

Xtra-large, that big mean shirt,
has left out E, and she is hurt.

A fork in the road–which way to go?
Both. By instinct, young Ys know.

Forgetful, sleepy Z-Z-Z
repeats herself, as you can see.
repeats himself, as you can see.