You know what? I take back the mean stuff I said about the poetry clubhouse. It's great in here. The grown-ups are gone and my Barbie dolls are driving a dump truck while you're playing with your blocks that say "truth," "beauty," and "chocolate fries." A couple people are over in the corner watching Willy Wonka or making up the rules as they go along. Through the gaps in the floor you can see that the ground's a hundred feet down. And there are no walls.