Family Myth, a poem

I'm the monkey.

At dinner, a colleague says, “You’re so smart and talented.”

And I riffle through the words like the leaves of a cabbage.

Is there sarcasm at the heart?

She blinks at me, curious.

Her face says, “What?”

And so I heh-heh, thank her,

Change the subject to the band, the sweet potato fries.

But my eyes lock on the peripheral shadows.

I hope no one heard the exchange,

Because this is not the way of things.

Sam couldn’t carry the ring into Mordor.

Alfred didn’t get to strap on a hard body suit and save the girl.

Xander is and ever will be a Scooby.

And I…

I am not the smart one.

Her assertion is an affront to family myth.

Those others,

They are the smart ones.

They are [insert hoity-toity university here] graduates.

They have test scores

And degrees more worthy than mine.

Whereas, I am…

The one who incredulously read, “Loin King?”

The first time I saw a commercial for The Lion King.

I am the one who was crushed when my father said,

“No wonder you didn’t get into [his alma mater]!”

And laughed.

I am the one who attended college to meet boys,

My ambition, apparently, in my womb.

I am allowed to be the voracious flirt, 

(Nothing says working ovaries 

Like undulating hips and a coin slot in the bosom.)

I'm allowed to be...

The extrovert,

The athlete,

The brat,

I'm a groupie.

But not…

The smart one. 

So, take your accolades elsewhere. 
At best, I'm a side-kick. 
At worst, a groupie.