Self Portrait

Take your pencil –

HB, 2B, red, yellow –

it doesn’t matter,

it’s a metaphor.

Put the point on the first dot,


on my crotch.

It’s awkward I know

but it gets worse;

it’s not my crotch but a symbolic representation of my father’s.

This is my starting point,

I am the product of my parents’ genes.

Follow from this dot to the next,

down the leg;

these first steps reflect my own

and these legs carried me through my late teens

as I hitch-hiked darkened streets.

Appropriate that I refer to my teens

as these lines we draw

return to my crotch.

Trace upwards from here to my heart

as a 21 year old me

found my future wife

and it’s fitting that the following dot is on my head

as I was forging my way through university at the time.

Draw from here down my arm,

pausing on my hand.

Of all the things that make me who I am,

this is possibly the most important –

I work and play with words.

These final dots work down my torso

and complete me at my crotch

just as I am completed by my children.

Remove your pencil and see me for who I am,

see me whole.

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