I am going to change my name
to something pungent – a name
that echoes crazy sounds or reeks
of smells redundant, a name which
speaks a fête of fun but stays the
same out of the sun. Offal Phauff?
I want a name that stands alone
for me, a timeless name eternally
attached, a clone to take my place
at bat as gracefully as I despatched
the stand of salad years to date.
Miss Cegenye Obiturate?
A name that states my case with
weight and substance, a worthy
name amongst the names of great
and honoured names, a title less an
ancient honorific to sweetly break
my sterling fast. Snydle Guano Plas?
There I see it writ in vast emboldened
Gothic script, asking to be recognised
as me, a saintly name imbued indeed,
disciples’ name – no parody is meant
on John but I’d select the same again.
Hey, Juan-To-Whit Rapt-Metaphor?
But Ivan means a lot to me and
I wouldn’t be the same without
that Donn. The least I gain the
less that’s lost and in the wash
I will retain my father’s name.
Nothing ventured – honour gained.
© 14 July 2007, I.D. Carswell