A poem about identity.
NO NAME
How unfortunate to have no name
It really is an awful shame
The teacher nods
Or points a finger
Oh how often I do linger
Not waiting for fortune nor fame
I just want her to say my name
I really was baptised you know
The holy water it did flow
It ran right down my neck I’m told
And so this story does unfold.
I went to school the next day
Waiting for her; my name to say
I put my head down in my book
So to the front I could not look
I glimpsed her jumping up and down
And on her brow an awful frown
Her whole face was full of malice
When she burst forth and shouted
Who the fuck is Alice?