“D” puzzled me, almost
right from the start:
I was delighted when I discovered
“D” started my name and was therefore
mine;
but I was confused
that it seemed to be
a relative of “B”
who was nowhere in my name at all,
and more — confused
is not the right word —
intrigued
to discover that
the small print version
of “D” was backwards:
“d” — it curved the opposite way.
It was like a nasty little secret
sort of a black sheep in the family.
I think it might have been that
that made me a contrarian:
and from then on,
I found myself
at first secretly
but later on publically
on the opposite side
in just about everything.
Everybody played hockey
in our town;
I hated hockey
and on my own became a skier.
No matter what popular opinion was
I always looked for another way to see the issue.
That’s a good way to become a loner, by the way
but like Hester Prynne
my “D” has become sort of emblazoned by it.
Maybe that’s how characters are formed
at least, in my case.
Thank you, little “d”.
