My Hood
My father was a writer
and a great man, and
his father was a writer,
as was the one before him,
and he was a great writer,
too.
So that I got confused
sometimes
if greatness came
from being a man,
or a father,
or a writer,
or all of them at once,
since the attribute
great
seemed strewn so carelessly
among my forefathers.
As for myself,
I am a man most of all,
then a father
and a writer last,
but great I am not
in any of these,
be it character
destiny
or occupation.
I can spell very well
and I can raise a storm
from a single drop of
holy water.
And I sprinkle my verse
with fairy dust
to make it fly.
My greatness is fidelity
to all things I observe
from the lowliest love
to the highest hatred.
My smallest word is
I
which I use as an eye
to look around
from under my hood.
Finnegan Flawnt is a ficticious writer who learns the hard way that a writer’s bio consisting of a couple of pieces successfully published by an obscure metafictional journal, even if this journal hails from the great Canadian nation, is worth very little in a world where the gentleman-poet is a dusty, long-forgotten notion, barely worth a historical footnote. His blog is currently travelling around the world and can be reached at http://flawnt.me
© 2009, Metazen. All rights reserved.
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How did I miss this?
Wow.
This sings to me. Bravo, Finn, bravo.