Victor

Our friend prefers Victor

to Vic. He has no patience

for those too lazy

to include the second syllable.

What’s the big deal?

he hears, from Steve

not Steven, Dave not David,

Mike not Michael.

His parents

had stayed up

throughout the night,

just days before he was born,

chose Victor over 100,000

others, that they declined to

save some dollars

on the engraving of his bracelet,

never falling to truncation,

that Vic

was nowhere to be spoken,

from junior kindergarten

to MBA,

birthday gifts unopened

if a short-form had been

scrawled,

saying

it wasn’t him,

that he refused to wear a lanyard

pre-scribed with Sharpie black,

by someone who assumed

it didn’t matter,

and he won’t check-in

to the hospital

on point of death

if they get it wrong,

swearing

the carver of his tombstone

had better etch

in all six characters,

just a single letter shy of

seventh heaven,

the luck of the dice,

a wonder of the world,

that he really doesn’t

need to add a y,

knowing that to him will go

the spoils either way.

Andreas Gripp

April 19, 2023

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