He'll Grow Up to Be an Idiot Just Like You

So my grandfather said, the day my father

Brought me, a raw red infant bundled up

Against the bitter winds of early March,

To show him ... no, to prove to him that ... no—

To get the approval hopelessly withheld?

To ask his blessing?  I have no idea;

I wasn't really there.  In any case,

He was mistaken.  I grew up to be

Another sort of idiot entirely.

Robert Mezey

From Collected Poems: 1952-1999, University of
Arkansas Press, © 2000.  Reprinted by permission
of the author.