Not so much an archeology lesson (though Great-Aunt LuAnn Abrue does enjoy finding “fossil poo”) but rather poetic musings on how dinosaurs and cavemen really lived. For instance, bedtime was dreadful: “My blankets itch. My pillow’s stone. / I snuggle with a teddy bone.” And playing tag with a Tyrannosaurus Rex? Not advisable. “I didn't mean to eat my friends, / But...yum...I munched them all. / They came to quite delicious ends— / So tasty, sweet, and small!” Weinstock's boisterous rhymes, along with his lumpy dinosaurs and dumpy cavemen, galumph through the pages. The mostly one-poem-per-page format is enlivened by double-page spreads in which one side frequently “talks” to the other, as when a grouchy museum guard tells a child not to embrace a dino skeleton in “Hugs” while on the next page the guard can be seen smooching a skull after hours in “Kisses.” Sly whispers from supporting characters—and a sneaky, smiling worm found on each page—are fun to spot in the darkened yet brimming illustrations. A prehistoric romp for the ages. (Picture book/poetry. 4-8)
