The self into shape. That teensy waymark
On our sediment with memory's glancing shard
Commemorates the birth of our self-regard.
When tasty and dry stalked abroad,
We could plot our lives by our hypnotic cries
And telling smiles, for they pulled a cord
Attached out there. But the idler's prize,
Fond reflex of our need, was a Brobdingnagian train
Of routine ministrations, running to time
And unevent, that can breed milksops and drain
Penpushers. When the thwarted and curious climb
To objects out of reach, they leave habit on the shelf.
Some mothers do not encourage this questing for self.
Our independence flowers in unusual locations
And disturbed soils (with florescence of gums,
Apparently!), but fails to bud in situations
Which stir no thoughts of mastery. Life's plums
Are sweet when we face and overcome an obstacle.
Climbing Mount Growth may punch us in the gob,
But just 'TONY' scribbled has no teeth at all!
Such self-advertising does no morale-boosting job,
While the candour that sets numbered teeth on edge
Will find its food in real meat and veg.
None of the subtleties to suggest that hardship
Erects a facade: it must falsify experience
To think, legalistically, of dental ownership
Instead of the time and place of accidents.
He learns his good from knowing a neighbourhood,