TECHNICALLY, IT’S NOT MY FAULT

Eleven-year-old Robert expresses himself—emphatically—through this series of concrete poems that emphasize visual over linguistic imagery. “My Stupid Day” appears as a circular recitation of an average school day arranged around a clock face; “Just Mow the Lawn” features graceful blades of grass formed by repetitions of “grass” on either side of a mown strip made up of vertical ouches. Robert emerges as the prototypical kids’-book kid: smart-mouthed, eternally at war with his sister, deeply in tune with the digestive process, and more interested in sports and video games than school. If he lacks individuality when stacked up against his literary peers, however, he makes up for this in typographical verve. Possibly the best piece is “Robert’s Four At-Bats,” in which the typeface flies, line-drives, grounds out bumpily, and then, in red, hits to right field where it is bobbled, allowing Robert to double and then to score around the infield diamond: “Cougars win!” An exuberant celebration of wordplay that’s certain to broaden kids’ understanding and appreciation of the possibilities of poetry. (Poetry. 9-13)