Poetry by Jon Purdue

BASTARD, BABY BOY.

Born above a bread store.

Muddy memory: Mom. Me. Mama. You.

I knew then (that)…

You didn’t want me.

Neither did she.

Stories about me told then were

Thinly veiled disgust.

My very favorite told and told and told again:

You said “Mom, he’s ugly. Isn’t he?”

And she answers “Yes, Judi. He is.”

(HA HA HA HA HA HA.)

So now, and then too

I believe and I believed you

Yes, Mother. I am.

Over again wondering then.

Where are the pictures?

None taken.

Where are the memories?

None taken.

BASTARD, BABY BOY.

Born above a bread store.

I knew then.

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-Jon Perdue

Jon is a full time social worker, part-time activist, and sometime writer. He lives with his husband and far too many animals in Montgomery, AL. He tells the truth as he knows it most of the time.