He has, and he’ll tell you,
his “Theory of Names”.
What Steve “means”, for example,
or Dave or Julian
or Trevor
or Imelda.
Christopher: he had an uncle by that name,
and a half-arsed therapist once, too.
And then there’s that miserable pseud of a Dr. Who.
You’ve got to watch for them, he’ll say.
Always “up themselves”, they are.
And he’ll smile, secure in the Opinion.
So secure, in fact, that he’ll hold forth some more,
he’ll challenge all comers,
to give him a name he
doesn’t have a rule for.
Wendys – oh, they’re weak, passive aggressive, too.
Sallys – oh, you’ve got to watch for them,
they’ll have the knife in before your back is turned.
And as for Jennys…
Well, run for the hills.
Unless they’ve already taken them for themselves,
beach towel on deckchair,
faster than a Kraut tourist.
His name? His name? You dare ask for his?
Well, you’ve been listening, haven’t you?
He’s given you no choice, after all.
What do you reckon he ought to be called?
Bio:
Mick Hickman is a writer from York, England. He has written for Off the Rock Productions (stage and audio), including a 2018 play about Groucho Marx. He has recently been published in the Blake-Jones Review, Bitchin’ Kitsch, the Cabinet of Heed, the Potato Soup Journal, and the Trouvaille Review.