Spumante Bambino

You read about the twins

cojoined at the tongue—

one who preferred the

sour, the other only

sweet—what a pain

that was when they

opted for Italian,

spaghetti before spumante,

gelato in-between.

Oddities. Those who spurned

the offers from Ringling

Bros. Convinced

cash & notoriety

were a waste of peculiar

gifts.

The heavy, bearded baby

with beetle brows.

Able to chalk the

drawings of Cro-

Magnon.

Spoke a

fluid French

before she walked.

Had never set a

foot in gay Paris.

The boy who

was struck by lightning

seven times. Whose touch

was said to waken those

from coma. Atoms leaping

fervently

from his fingers.

Conductor of the stygian,

grumbling clouds.

The girl

with a double

navel; single, centred

eye—whose cry

was a howl of hunger

upon her birth,

her vision 90/20,                                                         69

able to eat her weight

in pizza pie,

see the kneaded dough

through plaster walls.

Or the man

who had the hiccups

36 years, 11 months,

18 days, 22 hours

and 15 cumbrous seconds,

astonishing the

planet with his

ability to speak the

language of the air.

Andreas Gripp

April 22, 2025

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