PAD Day 13: The Weird Family's Kid

Today's dual prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write an "animal" poem (and as a suggestion from guest judge Daniel Nester, write a sestina), and (2) write a poem with at least one "kenning".  A kenning is a trope of Norse origin which is a marriage of two words that don't usually go together, to metaphorically describe another word or phrase.  Thus "whale road" could mean the ocean.  One of the most common kennings I can think of in English is "rug rat" to describe a young child, specifically a crawling baby. A sestina - well, all you poets probably know what that is.  For those who don't, the short definition is a poem with six six-line stanzas and a seventh three-line stanza. Six words are selected as end-words and one must be used at the end of each line, in a specific rotating order, with all six used in the three lines of the last stanza (the "envoi"). The poem is usually written in blank verse (ten syllables per line), but doesn't have to be. It's one of the most daunting forms, and hard to write without sounding like little more than an exercise in form. I've only written one or two I consider really successful, one of which was published. I don't know if this one is in the same league, but here it is.  It's a bit of a riff, or an exaggeration, on how my youngest son must feel about not having a pet dog in the house. Oh, and my "kenning" appears in line 5:

The Weird Family's Kid

First warm weekend in spring - people walk dogs

with impunity. In my neighborhood

there is a dog in every family

but mine. They all parade past my window-

furry little leash-puffs the size of bees,

hulking hounds as tall as a sunflower.

I know their names. The pug in the flowered

sweater is Bessie. The big police dog

is Bear. He likes to snap at honeybees.

Fred and Ginger trot through my neighborhood,

two Corgis in tandem. Through my window

it's a kennel show - all the families

strut them proudly - all but my family.

My parents are allergic to flowers,

and anything that floats in the window -

dust, pollen, smoke, and especially dog

and cat hair. I stroll through the neighborhood

petting every dog, avoiding the bees.

My folks are even allergic to bees.

Just how I escaped all these family

traits is a mystery. The neighborhood

is a battleground for them. No flowers

in our yard, and obviously, no dogs

or cats. And we always keep the windows

closed.  Our neighbors see our blinded windows

and shake their heads. But I don't want to be

seen as a weirdo. That label won't dog

me to adulthood. When those families

see me on the street smelling the flowers,

speeding on my bike through the neighborhood,

they will say, "Look, there's that nice neighborhood

kid, the one whose parents keep their windows        

shut - he's not so bad." When my life flowers,

when I've learned all about the birds and bees,

I'll move out from this shut-in family,

and maybe even get myself a dog.

People in this neighborhood buzz like bees.

They want families with open windows,

who plant flowers and like to walk their dogs.