Artist and poet Barbara Lydecker Crane moved to Somerville last year. She has published or forthcoming poems in Light Quarterly, Christian Science Monitor, Measure, The Flea, Lyric, Mezzo Cammin, Snakeskin, Think Journal, SCR, Raintown Review, and Blue Unicorn, among others.

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A Child’s Garden of Curses

There’s an alphabet of ways to curse
in mild, kid-sized doses. Arghh is first.

That Bad Egg—knock him down a peg:
dub the guy a Crumb, a Clod, a Dreg.

You saw him lob his wad of gum at you,
and now your sneaker’s stuck like glue. EWWW!

There’s not much starch in Fudge. Golly and Gosh
are lacking in the punch and the panache

of Holy Cow, or mouthing Insta-barf
next time your mother wraps you in a scarf.

You walk to school; the Bad Egg bully struts.
Jeepers, he’s a Killjoy.  Hey, Klutz!

he taunts across the street. Louse! you fire back,
and for good measure, Mind Your Own Beeswax.

Nerd, he sneers. Onions! you hurl at him.
Oh, Phooey, he mutters, losing his vim.

You bested him, that Quitter. But, Rats—you’re late
for class again, the second morning straight.

Teacher scolds. Look down and mumble Shoot,
peek up at her and sigh. She’ll think you’re cute.

Too much homework? Your teacher is a Turkey.
Ugh to tackling fractions. That girl, so smirky,

who always gets it right—think Vamoose.
If she were a fraction, then she’d be reduced.

You’re not a Weirdo to say and think these things.
They’re not X-rated, these old barks and stings.

Keep Yuck in your backpack, just to have around.
But don’t get stuck on that. Let fly with Zounds!

-Barbara Lydecker Crane
* originally published in Light Quarterly

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