A Biography of No

My no began as rustling leaves, the rush of wind in treetops.
One day he hatched as a tiny chick, unsteady, staggering, comical.
People laughed at him, called him cute.
When he opened his beak, he was a whisper, silence,
a squeak, a child's voice, a question.
A toddler apologizing for messing up the living room.
Something dangerous in a locked box, covered in razors, barbed wire,
booby traps. A hand grenade, plastic explosives, gasoline and matches.
An atom bomb.

Now my no is growing up, putting down roots, getting fat.
He has started smoking and talking back.
He is refusing to clean his room, his personal hygiene questionable.
He is working on a withering look.

He has dreams.
He has taken out a gym membership, is buffing up
He plans to get really big.
Some day he will fill a hillside, his letters blazing with carnival lights.
There'll be theme music, a brass band, an orchestra, fireworks.
He will be groomed, polite.
He will have a whole choir to back him up, friends ready
with megaphones, trucks, electric fences, shields, blockades.

If necessary, he will fill the whole planet,
beam a hologram of himself into space.
Take over the universe.

He has a sister.
She tries to help him, but she keeps getting in his way.
Her name is yes.
He wants to make the world safe for her.

Lucy Whitehead's poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Amethyst Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, Barren Magazine, Black Bough Poetry, Burning House Press, Collective Unrest, Electric Moon Magazine, Mookychick Magazine, Neon Mariposa Magazine, Pussy Magic, Re-side, and Twist in Time Magazine. She lives by the sea with her husband and cat. You can find her on Twitter @blueirispoetry.