He'll Grow Up to Be an Idiot Just Like You
So my grandfather said, the day my father
Brought me, a raw red infant bundled up
Against the bitter winds of early March,
To show him ... no, to prove to him that ... no—
To get the approval hopelessly withheld?
To ask his blessing? I have no idea;
I wasn't really there. In any case,
He was mistaken. I grew up to be
Another sort of idiot entirely.
Collected Poems: 1952-1999, University of
Arkansas Press, ©
2000. Reprinted by permission
of the author.