Sonnet: My Mythopoeic Beginnings
by John Kendall Hawkins
I was born with a caul over my face,
a Cherokee pow-wow with a schnozzle,
my first word J-E-L-L-O -- a disgrace
to my Ma, and to my Pa, a puzzle.
We lived in Missouri: I had three sibs
who'd foment my demise, or sit there and sulk,
and I took their abuse until their fibs
rubbed my spleen till I turned green like the Hulk.
I was a fallen angel, monk disguised,
it's all in my social worker's poems --
how I was forever being chastised.
Well, that's what they told me in foster homes.
My life's no Seuss's Green Eggs and a Hat:
It's way, way more complicated than that.
