EH (July 5th 1986 Cancer's Stand Up! / Fayetteville, North Carolina)

My Blanket

The way Jesus’ birth was synonymous with a manger
My birth was synonymous with a blanket
Oh yeah, it was that serious
After I was released from the cold grasp of the doctors hands that pulled me into this world
I was placed in the warmth of my blanket and into my mother’s arms
7 pounds and some change of Gruber Baby Bliss

While being born was great and all that
There was something about the blanket…It was like we…connected
I held onto that blanket like it blessed me with marvelous and mysterious powers
Like leaping large teddy bears in a single bound
Or running faster than a speeding leather belt

With my blanket I felt invincible
A delicate blue masterpiece handled with care
I took my blanket with me everywhere
It was like Linus on that Charlie Brown show was modeled after us
Me and my blanket were so tight, we even made my twin sister jealous
One night it got so bad that she begged our dad to take a towel with her to bed
Yes, a towel

I wasn’t sweatin that, me and my blanket appreciated the haters
While the other kids around me started to let go of their imaginary friends and playthings,
We stayed major
Kinda like what the Fat Boys would have had if they stayed together.
As a kid, I would dream of having my blanket tailored into a hand kerchief to wear on my breast pocket on my wedding day.
I have a feeling you all know where this poem is going

My blanket inexplicably disappeared on the last day of a move between new houses
Boxes unloaded, room turned inside out, no blanket to be found
After interrogating every single member of my family involved, nobody claims to know anything
Reminiscent of hip hops Biggie and Tupac slayings the case remains unsolved
Now I’m not a conspiracy theorist by any means
But it seems like fun

At the time of the disappearance several comments were made from my parents about me being too old for the blanket
My dad would tell me “son, the girls aren’t checking for a boy with a play toy
Mom would say “that blanket looks awfully dirty”
Always wanting to “take it” and “wash it”
Finally my sister, the towel lover, could only scowl when my blanket and I passed by

Three suspects, one innocent blanket
You be the judge
We all have that “special something” in our lives
If it’s still there, hold on to it tight
But if not, here is what you do it’s the
Hold onto the memories. That will get you through

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Pablo Neruda

If You Forget Me

Comments (1)

Wow this is a very good poem you have here, it's really good, i still have my blanket from when i was little also.. i enjoyed reading this poem, and i'm sure so many others will also. ~ Hazel G.E