A couple of months ago I was minding my own business when all of a sudden I got a notification on my phone that someone had posted a picture on my Facebook Wall.
Now I’m not given to idiocy; it’s more that I suffer from occasional bouts of it.
So I was more shocked than I probably should have been to find that a friend from high school had discovered a poem I had written when I was fourteen years old, scanned it and posted it on my wall.
Now, I’m not going to say that I was a particularly bad poet when I was fourteen. I’m going to say that I was your average, run-of-the-mill bad poet when I was fourteen.
The poem posted was an ode I had written to “His Airness” Michael Jordan.
And it went a little like this:
This poem makes clear two things:
1. I was pretty lousy at poem titles as this one deserves something more flashy, like “To you, fly over all.”
2. I should have come up with a nom de plume WAY WAY long ago.
So, there it is. My secret shame. Well, it was my secret shame. Shoot. Well, I can still pretend that my poem about this guy came out all right: