A Bean on the Roof
“Mama!”
George ran into the kitchen. “Mama!”
“Please don’t shout, George,” Mrs. Bean said.
“I have to shout! You have to hear this! Anna is on the roof! I saw her from Frankie’s window!”
“I know Anna is on the roof,” Mrs. Bean said.
“But you told us never to play on the roof. You said we’d bother Mr. Brown’s rabbits. You said we’d run into the clotheslines and dirty the clothes.”
“Anna is not playing, George,” Mrs. Bean said. “Anna is sitting.”
“Oh.”
George stopped. Then he said quickly, “I’m going up there and sit too.”
George had wanted to play on the roof since the day they moved into the apartment.
“No, George,” Mrs. Bean said.
George put his hands on his hips.
“Why not?” he said. “That’s not fair. Anna gets to do everything. She gets to stay up late. She gets to ride the bus. Now she gets to sit on the roof. It’s not fair!”
“George, will you be quiet and listen? Anna is on the roof because it is the only place she can write her poem.”
George’s mouth fell open.
“Anna is writing a poem?”
“That’s right, George.”
“I didn’t know Anna knew how to write a poem.”
“Yes, Anna is writing a poem. If the poem is good, it will be in a book at her school.”
“A real book?”
“Yes, Anna will be the first Bean to be in a book. I want everybody to leave her alone.”
George thought fast. He said, “Can I go up on the roof if I write a poem?”
“No.”
“Why not, Mama? That’s really not fair.”
“If you want to write a poem, George, you can do it at the table.”
George groaned.
“Here is a piece of paper, George. Here is a pencil.”
George said, “Why does Anna get to write on the roof and I have to write at the table?”
“Anna’s poem is a roof poem. Yours is not.”
George sat down at the table. He thought.He twirled his pencil. He bit it. He admired his teeth prints in the wood. He thought some more.
Finally he sighed. “I can’t write a poem at the table. I’m sorry. I just can’t. I have to be on the roof, like Anna.”
Mrs. Bean gave in.
“All right,” she said. “You may go up on the roof and write one poem. But you must not bother Anna.”
“I won’t.”
“I mean it. Anna is the first Bean to be in a book.”
“I won’t bother her,” George said.
He crossed his heart.
“And thank you very much, Mama.”
George ran out of the apartment. He ran up the steps. He pushed open the door and stepped onto the roof.
Clean clothes snapped in the wind. Pigeonscooed in their cages. Rabbits hopped in theirs.
George took a deep breath of good roof air.
This was the place to write a poem. And George was going to write the best poem in the whole world.
Two Beans on the Roof
George sat down.
He said softly, “Hello, Anna.”
Anna did not answer. She was looking across the rooftops. George said, “Mama said I could come up and write a poem too.”
Anna did not answer.
George said, “I can write a poem if I don’t bother you. And I won’t bother you, Anna. I promise.”
Anna closed her eyes.
“I won’t bother you, no matter what.”
George watched Anna. Then he closed his eyes too.
It worked. He finished his poem at once.
“I am going to write my poem down,” hesaid. “That way I will always have it. I will never, ever forget it.”
George bent over his paper.
“You ought to write yours down too, Anna. That way you will always have it. You will never, ever forget it.”
George printed his poem on the paper. He was glad he could spell all the words. He did not have to bother Anna at all.
This was George’s poem:
The cat was fat.
It sat on a hat.
The hat got flat.
Then he wrote:
A poem by George (String) Bean.
The kids at school called George String Bean. They called his sister Jenny Jelly Bean. They called Anna Anna.
George was very happy with his poem. He read it three times to himself.
“Want to hear my poem?” George
“Mama!”
George ran into the kitchen. “Mama!”
“Please don’t shout, George,” Mrs. Bean said.
“I have to shout! You have to hear this! Anna is on the roof! I saw her from Frankie’s window!”
“I know Anna is on the roof,” Mrs. Bean said.
“But you told us never to play on the roof. You said we’d bother Mr. Brown’s rabbits. You said we’d run into the clotheslines and dirty the clothes.”
“Anna is not playing, George,” Mrs. Bean said. “Anna is sitting.”
“Oh.”
George stopped. Then he said quickly, “I’m going up there and sit too.”
George had wanted to play on the roof since the day they moved into the apartment.
“No, George,” Mrs. Bean said.
George put his hands on his hips.
“Why not?” he said. “That’s not fair. Anna gets to do everything. She gets to stay up late. She gets to ride the bus. Now she gets to sit on the roof. It’s not fair!”
“George, will you be quiet and listen? Anna is on the roof because it is the only place she can write her poem.”
George’s mouth fell open.
“Anna is writing a poem?”
“That’s right, George.”
“I didn’t know Anna knew how to write a poem.”
“Yes, Anna is writing a poem. If the poem is good, it will be in a book at her school.”
“A real book?”
“Yes, Anna will be the first Bean to be in a book. I want everybody to leave her alone.”
George thought fast. He said, “Can I go up on the roof if I write a poem?”
“No.”
“Why not, Mama? That’s really not fair.”
“If you want to write a poem, George, you can do it at the table.”
George groaned.
“Here is a piece of paper, George. Here is a pencil.”
George said, “Why does Anna get to write on the roof and I have to write at the table?”
“Anna’s poem is a roof poem. Yours is not.”
George sat down at the table. He thought.He twirled his pencil. He bit it. He admired his teeth prints in the wood. He thought some more.
Finally he sighed. “I can’t write a poem at the table. I’m sorry. I just can’t. I have to be on the roof, like Anna.”
Mrs. Bean gave in.
“All right,” she said. “You may go up on the roof and write one poem. But you must not bother Anna.”
“I won’t.”
“I mean it. Anna is the first Bean to be in a book.”
“I won’t bother her,” George said.
He crossed his heart.
“And thank you very much, Mama.”
George ran out of the apartment. He ran up the steps. He pushed open the door and stepped onto the roof.
Clean clothes snapped in the wind. Pigeonscooed in their cages. Rabbits hopped in theirs.
George took a deep breath of good roof air.
This was the place to write a poem. And George was going to write the best poem in the whole world.
Two Beans on the Roof
George sat down.
He said softly, “Hello, Anna.”
Anna did not answer. She was looking across the rooftops. George said, “Mama said I could come up and write a poem too.”
Anna did not answer.
George said, “I can write a poem if I don’t bother you. And I won’t bother you, Anna. I promise.”
Anna closed her eyes.
“I won’t bother you, no matter what.”
George watched Anna. Then he closed his eyes too.
It worked. He finished his poem at once.
“I am going to write my poem down,” hesaid. “That way I will always have it. I will never, ever forget it.”
George bent over his paper.
“You ought to write yours down too, Anna. That way you will always have it. You will never, ever forget it.”
George printed his poem on the paper. He was glad he could spell all the words. He did not have to bother Anna at all.
This was George’s poem:
The cat was fat.
It sat on a hat.
The hat got flat.
Then he wrote:
A poem by George (String) Bean.
The kids at school called George String Bean. They called his sister Jenny Jelly Bean. They called Anna Anna.
George was very happy with his poem. He read it three times to himself.
“Want to hear my poem?” George