The names we acquire through the course of our lives

can start with a hodgepodge of honest affection,

with family lore to temper the mix,

and humour thrown in so it's said with a smile.

 

There are weird conventions that drive us to nicknames;

some merely shorten our own given names.

The weirdness arrives when our first names grow longer,

or when monikers come from way out in left field.

 

My uncle was normally known by his first name,

yet family addressed him by his middle name,

a cognomen culled from a poem by Milne,

affirming that James was a very small snail.

 

My Dad’s younger brother was known as The Squire,

a mystery to everyone not in the know.

It simply arose when he moved from the city,

and took to the life of his rural abode.

 

In my case I’m commonly called by my first name,

though often the letters are shortened by two;

there’s even a couple who go a step further,

truncating and taking my name to a ‘T’.