Cockshy

Cockshy

We teach our children that all things have names,
And share our own labels, eponymous,
But something taints these simple childhood games:
We learn to slur and hide, anonymous.
Deep, innate umbrage seems to amplify
Abysmal, silent prejudice grown loud;
And we disparage, slander, and downcry,
When we can hide ourselves within a crowd.
The razor's edge of epithets, once hurled,
Slice deeply, biting down into the soul,
Of even tiny innocents, whose world,
Suddenly shattered, may never be whole.
And yet, the crowd, though none can reason why,
Still cast their darts to pierce each small cockshy.

Mick McKellar
May 2013

Many words in our language sound nothing like what they mean. In my ongoing journey to rediscover parts of my mother tongue (those seemingly "misplaced" in the last three years), I found the British word, cockshy. It has three meanings that evolved into the above poem:  1. the sport of throwing missiles at a target; 2. the target itself; and 3. an object of criticism or ridicule.

Also, I really wanted to write a poem rhyming anonymous and eponymous...

I wonder, if I call someone a horse's arse, is that a hippoponymous statement?

Mick