05-27-2016, 01:47 AM (This post was last modified: 03-23-2017, 11:02 PM by Todd.)
Revision 4
I. Infant
I begin as an actuarial calculation
back when they did figures by slide rule.
Through an alchemy of base metals,
Euclid’s perfect numbers,
my two-pound weight,
and mother’s dead rictus,
they determine a 38% chance.
Peter Singer has not yet written
to reject my being a person.
II. Toddler
I crawl and continue to crawl,
and my mother’s world withers
to a bent stalk, a blighted field.
Children are not the reason for divorce.
We mean to say, not the only reason.
III. Preschool
I wear leg braces beneath pants
so my parents will feel normal.
Frankenstein’s Monster is my normal.
He clomps like me, and doesn’t know
that all babies aren't born by lightning.
IV. Elementary School
I learn that friends only happen
when you stay still, hold your breath,
never break a pencil, and never go
to the sharpener.
Unobserved, children hunt in packs.
The principal says nothing
when my arms are held
when I’m hit.
He does say that a human bite
is filthier than a dog's after I bite
into Mickey’s forearm and spit
blood on him.
Now they just walk like me
when they think I’m not looking.
V. Junior High
In a town too small to have a McDonald's,
these years are a burning fuse.
The acid of puberty mixed with nothing
to do makes us fight. I never stop
fighting: 138 times and then I quit
counting.
I start getting love letters;
that's the way girls fight.
VI. High School
There’s a cure for me:
saw through the femur, and re-hamstring
like a guitar—a coin flip of normal or paralyzed.
I miss being able to hit someone. It feels like love.
Kid in a wheelchair tells me how lucky I am.
The freedom of not giving a shit
is a flower that breaks
through the pavement.
Revision 3
I. Infant
I began as an actuarial calculation
back when they did figures by slide rule.
Through an alchemy of base metals,
Euclid’s perfect numbers,
my two-pound weight,
and my mother’s dead rictus,
they determine a 38% chance. Peter Singer
had not yet written
to reject my being a person.
II. Toddler
I crawled and continue to crawl,
and my mother’s world withers
to a bent stalk, a blighted field.
Children are not the reason for divorce.
We mean to say, not the only reason.
III. Preschool
I wear leg braces beneath my pants
so my parents will feel normal.
Frankenstein’s Monster is my normal.
He clomps like me, and didn’t know
that all babies aren't born by lightning.
IV. Elementary School
I learn that friends only happen
when you stay very still,
never break a pencil and never go
to the sharpener.
Unobserved, children hunt in packs.
The principal said nothing when I was hit,
when my arms were held.
He did tell me that a human bite
is filthier than a dog's after I bit
into Mickey’s forearm and spat
blood on him.
Now they all just walk like me
when they think I’m not looking.
V. Junior High
In a town too small to have a McDonald's,
these years are a burning fuse.
The acid of puberty mixed with nothing
to do makes us fight. I never stop
fighting: 138 times and then I quit
counting.
I start getting love letters;
that's the way girls fight.
VI. High School
There is a cure for me:
Saw through the femur, and re-hamstring
like a guitar—a coin flip of normal or paralyzed.
I miss being able to hit someone. It feels like love.
Kid in a wheelchair tells me how lucky I am.
The freedom of not giving a shit
is like a flower that breaks through the pavement.
~~
Edit 3: Added some changes reflecting on everyone's comments
Revision 2
I.Infant
I began as an actuarial calculation
back when they did figures by slide rule.
Through an alchemy of base metals,
Euclid’s perfect numbers,
my two-pound weight,
and my mother’s rictus confused with a smile,
they determine a 38% chance. Peter Singer
had not yet written
to reject my being a person.
II. Toddler
I crawled and continued to crawl,
and my mother’s world withers
to a bent stalk in a blighted field.
Children are not the reason for divorce.
We mean to say, not the only reason.
III. Preschool
I wear leg braces under my pants
so my parents will feel normal.
This is my normal. Frankenstein’s Monster
clomps like me, and didn’t know
that all babies aren't born by lightning.
IV. Elementary School
I learn that friends happen
when you stay very still,
never break a pencil and never go
to the sharpener.
Unobserved, children hunt in packs.
The principal said nothing when I was hit,
when my arms were held.
He did tell me that a human bite
is filthier than a dog's after I bit
into Mickey’s forearm and spat
blood on him.
Now they all just walk like me
when they think I’m not looking.
V. Junior High
In a town too small to have a McDonald's,
these years are a burning fuse.
The acid of puberty mixed with nothing
to do makes us fight. I never stop
fighting: 138 times and then I quit
counting.
I start getting love letters;
that's the way girls fight.
VI. High School
There is a cure for me:
Saw through the femur, and re-hamstring
like a guitar—a coin flip of normal or paralyzed.
I miss being able to hit someone. It feels like love.
Kid in a wheelchair tells me how lucky I am.
The freedom of not giving a shit
is like a flower that breaks through the pavement.
~~
Edit 2: Leanne: You have a really good eye.
Edit 2.1: Tense change, thank you Kole
Revision
I.Infant
I began as an actuarial calculation
back when they did figures by slide rule.
Through an alchemy of base metals,
Euclid’s perfect numbers,
my two-pound weight,
and my mother’s rictus confused with a smile,
they determined a 38% chance. Peter Singer
had not yet written
to reject my being a person.
II. Toddler
I crawled and continued to crawl,
and my mother’s world shrank
to what would never be, a withered
stalk, a blighted field. Children
are not the reason for divorce.
We mean to say, not the only reason.
III. Preschool
I wore leg braces under my pants
so my parents would feel normal.
This was my normal. Frankenstein’s Monster
clomped like me, and didn’t know
that all babies weren’t born by lightning.
IV. Elementary School
I learned that friends happen
when you stay very still,
never break a pencil, never go
to the sharpener.
Children aren’t innocent:
unobserved, they hunt in packs.
The principal said nothing when I was hit,
when my arms were held.
He did tell me that a human bite
is filthier than a dog's after I bit
into Mickey’s forearm and spat
blood on him.
Now they all just walk like me
when they think I’m not looking.
V. Junior High
These years are a burning fuse
for a town too small to have a McDonald’s.
The acid of puberty mixed with nothing
to do made us fight. I never stopped
fighting: 138 times and then I quit
counting.
I started getting love letters;
that was the way girls fought.
VI. High School
There was a cure for me.
Saw through the femur, and re-hamstring
like a guitar—a coin flip of normal or paralyzed.
I missed being able to hit someone. It felt like love.
Kid in a wheelchair tells me how lucky I am.
The freedom of not giving a shit
is like a flower that breaks through the pavement.
~~~
Edit 1: Mark, Crow, Rivernotch thank you for your comments. Even if I didn't end up taking your ideas I strongly considered all of them. It forced me to determine again why something was included. Thanks for the punctuation help I wrote this from a prompt and didn't clean it well. I tried a semicolon in one instance that I think I can get away with without an adverbial clause. I hope it all works better. There are more edits to go--but here's my first pass.
Original
I. Infant
I began as an actuarial calculation
back when they did figures by slide rule,
a strange alchemyof Euclid’s perfect numbers,
my two-pound weight,
and my mother’s painted on smile
to determine a 38% chance. Peter Singer
had not yet written
to reject my being a person.
II. Toddler
I crawled and continued to crawl,
and my mother’s world shrank
to what would never be. Dreams
like a blighted field. Children
are not the reason for divorce.
We mean to say, not the only reason.
III. Preschool
I wore leg braces under my pants
so my parents would feel normal.
This was my normal. Frankenstein’s Monster
clomped like me, and didn’t know
that all babies weren’t born by lightning.
IV. Elementary School
I learned that friends happen
when you stay very still,
never break a pencil, never go
to the sharpener.
Children aren’t innocent,
and they hunt in packs.
The principal said that a human bite
is filthier than a dog's when I bit
into Mickey’s forearm and spat
blood on him as his friends let go
of my arms.
Now they all just walk like me
when they think I’m not looking.
V. Junior High
These years are a burning fuse
for a town too small to have a McDonalds.
The acid of puberty mixed with nothing
to do made us fight. I never stopped
fighting, 138 times and then I quit
counting.
I started getting love letters
that was the way girls fought.
VI. High School
There was a cure for me.
Saw through the femur, and re-hamstring
like a guitar—a coin flip of normal or paralyzed.
I missed being able to hit someone. It felt like love.
Kid in a wheelchair tells me how lucky I am.
Everyone’s heaven is someone’s hell.
The freedom of not giving a shit
is like a flower that breaks through the pavement.
~~
Made some slight edits to one of my NaPM poems.
