A poem in honor of Get a Different Name Day.
What is in a name?
Nothing if it's Erica or Elaine.
But be called Agnes or Adelaide,
And see how popular you are in third grade.
My parents nearly named me Flolettie, I lie not.
Had they, would I be in this spot?
Or I may today,
Be pulling a double at the Taco Bell,
Screaming, “Ain’no hot sauce, go straight to hell.”
And dreaming of the day,
That a boy named Bobby Ray,
Would finally remove "Lavonda" from his chest,
And ink “Flolettie” in its place…
Beneath a tattoo of my face.
Instead they deemed me Donna Jane,
A perfect name for small-town fame.
But not worthy of my big city dream,
So in a starry-eyed scheme,
I replaced the Jane with an exclamation point.
I defined myself by this punctuation,
Loud and bold with no moderation.
The exclamation lasted until college,
Where I gained a tiny bit of self-knowledge.
But lost it on a trip to Tennessee.
Where after several shots of Hennesey,
I walked down the aisle to Elvis and was wed by Reverend Ed.
Then my name became Donna Ison-Engelke, instead.
Engelke only lasted fourteen months,
To nobody's great surprise.
It's impossible to maintain a relationship,
That’s exclusively between the thighs.
When once again I was caught in the matrimonial net,
I ended up with Brock as my sobriquet.
But it just sounded so Germanic, and he wore a cape,
So after four years in that union, I made my escape.
When my father died,
To keep him close and ease the pain,
I clove to his Emerson and gave up my Jane.
I dropped the monikers of all other men
and took Donna Emerson Ison as my autonym.
When I took up writing, I shortened it to D.E.
So, readers couldn't tell whether I was a he or a she.
Then came marriage number three.
With Donna Ison-Rodriguez, I gained some Latin flavor.
But, it was a taste I did not savor.
So, neither husband nor his name did stay.
We filed for divorce, five years ago today.
It has taken a lifetime to realize,
There is nothing in a name.
Were I Bambi or Beatrice, I’d be the same.
And my Rose would smell as sweet,
If his name were Paul or Pete,
Instead of Frank.
Identity comes before the label,
So, today I am able…
To embrace at forty-five,
That simply Donna Ison will completely suffice…
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.