Bedwetter

I am 7 and an
Inveterate bedwetter,
An apparently unhappy
Child with speech impediment
Whose father has written
His Master’s thesis on
His maladjusted son.
I am disappointed
In myself for my
Involuntary
Deficiencies
That are embarrassing
And not a little inconveniently
Cold in winter when I wake.
I never know why but
Accept what I am
Unable to make
A change at
Once
Though over
Time I am able to
Overcome such problems
And move on to better
Days and years.
Perhaps it was
Competition
For my
Own
Bid for
Attention, affection,
And admiration gone bad
But I think most likely
It was a simple
Curve of my
Growing
Up with keen
Siblings whose
Multiple talents made
Me want to strive harder
To win praise or else
Condemnation to
Be unique even
Among such
Gifted sibs.
And so
Many
Of them,
We always
Knew we were
What might kindly
Be said to be uniquely
Tight against outsiders
And uniquely merciless among
Ourselves, I recall the songs
My elder sisters taught
Us like, “Your always
Welcome at our
House ...”
Followed by a
Menacing,
“… and we know
You will stay.”
Or, the ditty,
“We’re
Just
Like the
Nuts that fall,
Just a little crack
That’s all, ding-ding-ding,
Here comes my trolly
Car, ...” while we
Held our two
Hands to
Our
Face palm
Side down like
A raccoon’s mask
Laughing hysterically.
We were taught
Classical
Music
Art and literature,
Carpentry
Plumbing
Gardening
Circuitry
House painting,
But most of all to be
Polite and abhor rudeness,
Even among each other.
Lessons we never
Forgot along
With a
Burning
Desire to
Achieve all
We possibly
Could do.
Even to
Stop
Bedwetting
Correct a speech
Defect and learn to
Love to read
That we all
Deemed worthy,
To use both
Hands
And
Head.