Confessions of a Non-Conformist

Confessions of a Non-Conformist

At fourteen

I decided to be

unorthodox,

a man

who sings for his bread,

and likes bread

who cheats himself on his taxes,

and who would have been

first to the moon,

but on arriving

has forgotten his flag.

My mother shrieked,

and dropped her iron

on the foot of the stove.

My father reached

for his razor-strap and his wallet.

The cat yawned.

I eat carrots

in public places.

I carry spiders

out-of-doors

on the Sunday paper.

I am unfriendly with my banker.

But still wonder.

God-fearing? Free? White? Thirty-one?

Certainly afraid. I fall down cliffs in my dreams.

I support a dentist

single-handed,

and have not yet mastered

the art of breathing

underground.

-- Paul Petrie

{West Kingston, RI}