Changing names to protect no-one at all

Recently I have been thinking about pseudonyms, not that I haven't thought about it before, but it began to dwell in mind when I looked at a flier for a local poetry group. Unless my mind has diminished more than I had recently thought, Rapunzel Wizard-topping the bill- was not the name his parents came out with as the minister lowered him to the font. My thoughts turned from scorn to amusement as I idly imagined him on the pull, the quine he was chatting too had found that Rapunzel had ticked all the boxes and was waiting for him to tell her to get her coat. 'Oh, I'm Rapunzel by the way.' I heard him say as if to seal the deal. A set of doors and a port cullis in the quine's eyes coldly close and lock, are drawn up and to add to the metaphor a skinny dog barks fretfully and alone in an empty land. Laugh, she thinks, I'll leave that til later. An excuse? The loon doesn't deserve an excuse. I won't dwell on Rapunzel, I'm sure he had a reason and perhaps it is cool and if I meet him I'll try really hard to be polite and not ask if he'd let his hair down recently. But, of course, now. I want a pseudonym. Or the performance poet in me does. Last night I had whittled it down to Zyborg Redaction, merely 'Adam'-perhaps with a question mark or Mr Sylvia Plath, Apprentice Poet. Admittedly Zyborg Redaction stands out, seems to exude confidence and is impossible dismiss, the second isn't very original and I might as well not have a pseudonym at all. The last, as the evening wears on, and I've listened to Lady Lazarus and Daddy on You Tube almost continuously since the sun went down, if I have the guts is perfect. I was going to write one of her poems in my journal but they went on a bit. Zyborg Redaction in comparison is trite and childish and if not attention seeking, is at least lingering far too long looking at itself in the mirror. So poetry readings, poetry slams, poetry in parks, swimming pools and other venues the length and breadth of the land Mr Sylvia Plath has memorized his poems a bit, put on a new yellow swastika and is that person fidgeting behind you waiting to read.