JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Born with lyrics in his blood

eardrums at perfect pitch

each phrase, each melody, recorded

analyzed, categorized, cataloged

reproduced on demand

he is a prodigy no doubt

admiring parents murmured, smiling, proud

 

Convinced that they had birthed a budding Mozart

poet, philosopher, physicist, maestro

they filled his room with books, art, music

encyclopedias stretched temptingly on shelves

left him to choose his genius

 

He failed at mathematics, hated Latin

attention deficit, spent weeks curled up in bed

left home at seventeen sandaled for India

smoked grass, Krishna, ate dal bat, week-old bread

 

His younger brother who they always thought a dullard

went on to Wall Street pinstriped, goes to Shul

plays bridge, makes pot roasts, burgers grilled with cheese

married his childhood sweetheart, has four kids…

 

A dentist, a beautician, a used car salesman

and one who won the Nobel prized for peace