Bland eyes refusing the beer-infused question
which is not a question, the things stranger men ask never are,
but a chisel they’re trying to insert
to crack me open for conversation, to make it rude
and tell the middle distance, “From here.”
There’s not a country in the world where I’m believed
but no-one can place my vowels
(even I can’t place my vowels, and as for how
I might say the word “world” next time, who knows?)
what follows an answer; it’s not just
more beery breath, but the gritted grinning through the usual mocking
of how they assume I once spoke and the same seven assumptions.
Smooth as a sphere, I won’t open my worlds
or trace the fragile thread through long-dead wars
back through generations to the simple fact: I’m
Thanks to napowrimo.net for the prompt to write an origins poem.
See the new NaPoWriMo poems as they pop up, complete with pics of the handwritten drafts, natter to me, and help me with titles for them, via whatever social media you call home:
All my poems on this site are now #FreeForPoets to play with, to write hybrid forms such as glosas, coupling poems, golden shovels, acrostics, centos, and erasures. Full permissions here: #FreeForPoets.