|Apr/May 2003 • Poetry|
Childhood with Lobster
Be careful with that lobster; it might go off!
My father had a deep mistrust of strong-clawed crustaceans.
I was only six then, and unaware of the consequences
Of juxtaposing my green youth with raw sea-food.
He said someone so young should be more obvious
And made me wear a baguette on my head.
You could look like a toreador he said, or William Tell
From a distance. He then expounded the merits of ants.
At school I was ribbed because my uniform
Suggested a chest of drawers. Back then, no-one
Appreciated visual puns. In English,
I got detention for approximating my bedroom with Mae West,
And in Math I was dropped down a year
For applying Pythagoras' Theorem to the History of Western Art.
Eventually I was expelled
For burning down the school with my hair.