That’s my new grandson waving his little arms over there
second blue blanket on the left, kicking his tiny feet:
he looks just like his father. They say you can’t see
character until a child is past the terrible twos
but I think you can just by the way they cry or don’t.
His father is a pleasant man, always was smiling
even if he didn’t —
You delivered yesterday, by the look of you.
Is yours that little girl, pink blanket over by the door?
Very nice: such delicate features. They say you mustn’t treat
girls different from boys; I think that’s a pile of poop.
Why, little boys are always moving roughhousing playing;
little girls are quiet, sensitive, introspective. I mean
you can see the difference even in these little babies:
yours is a girl, ours is a boy, and it isn’t just the blankets.
Look at the hands on our little guy: fingers like little sausages;
your little girl has such delicate fingers probably be an artist
or pianist. Our little guy will play in the NHL
make a million before he’s twenty; your little girl,
no offence, but she’s a girl:
if she plays her cards right, she’ll marry a rich guy
like my grandson and have a good life.
You can tell she’ll be pretty:
that’s a great advantage for a young woman.
Makes up for being female — awful challenge
in this world of ours; who knows why.
But my grandson, now — Nice meeting you —
Strange woman: never said a word; just left.
Some people, no matter how nice you are to them —
and I spread it on pretty thick:
kid’s plain as a stick, like his mother —
some people are just rude, and that’s a fact.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
This entry was posted in Creative writing, dramatic monologues, fun, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to looking

  1. Bill says:

    Great stuff! I laughed out loud when I read the ending.

  2. riverwriter says:

    That’s the fun of the dramatic monologue: always ironical, usually against the speaker, who just doesn’t get it. Thanks for reading.

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