To my German tutor’s despair,
And always at five to, I kept on
Mistaking Hüre for Uhr.
He snapped once, claiming I was doing this
On purpose and how unfair it was to
Defile the Spräche und der Lehrer.
He was right – and so I thought – :
Time wasn’t a bitch back then.
All I needed was a saxon drum
Not reminding me of ash.
In 1985, I first
Read the New Yorker with intent,
It felt like an unpaid internship for
Gifted high schoolers.
I had taught myself mock medieval english
Roaming through Dungeons & Dragons.
Yet, both the wizard and the dwarf
Considered me nothing but a snob
Swinging a morningstar.
It was two years after my mother and I
Had been handed an IQ test
Where I scored a sorry 80,
Which I discovered, when I finally accessed
The internet much later on,
Is something you wouldn’t report
On a resumé. That is unless you’re running
Some non-discrimination experiment.
Late childhood was obscene – it really means
« Of a bad omen » – who thought
Comrades would become clerks
And I would conform to type ?
Image credit : The Theory of the Deep Understanding of Things