Preston Graham - Bio

I was born in the dusk of March. There was a blizzard, I’m told. But I don’t remember it that way. So much for “out like a lamb,” and at an ounce over ten pounds, my mother likely shares the sentiment. I was a baby elephant. My formative years were electric blues and neon pinks. Chester Cheetah, He Man and Max Hedrum. Our family was teetering on poverty, probably. We lived on the west side of a dead-end street with limitless possibilities. Three sisters and four brothers aside, I was an only child. Awkwardly, I attempted my teens, But oh, those glasses… They probably had potential, had I been a decade or seven older. My prized possession was a saxophone and I couldn’t gain weight if I tried. I was a six foot something 2x4. Somewhere along the way, I can’t say why, The U.S. Air Force took me in. They introduced me to avionics and a girl, a doe eyed product of the dust bowl. She danced from the hip and into my heart. She became my first and last kiss. I was a blushing bridegroom. Now I’m a two-year veteran of fatherhood, and an over-qualified desk clerk. I’m the type who would sooner memorize pi one or two decimal points past useful than find it by an infinite series expansion. I cherish creative outlets, so today, I am a poet. 04/17/15