My uncle called me puppy because I was a big eyed imp.
I was the smallest, so neighbor kids called me shrimp.
My brothers called me Sis or Sister,
Except for teasing; then it was “Here’s Blister.”
In junior high the queen bees decided I walked funny
They called me “happy butt” to make my world less sunny.
In Missouri my first teacher read off Sam for Clemens, my last name
And that stuck throughout the school, though the heritage I can’t claim.
In teaching, I was “Teacher,” sometimes Mrs. G,
You can be assured there were a lot more names, I’d just as soon not be.
My kids think “Moth” is hilarious, from the Bart Simpson cartoon
I like Granny E from my dear little ones, who send me over the moon.
At home though, I’m a cipher, a nameless background buzz,
No honey, no dear, no sweetie pie, no sweetheart, though once I was.
The pain of being nobody, to not be differentiated from the dog
Is a constant pinch that makes me feel alone in a domestic fog.