My Son
He’s huge – lots of
Muscle, his head is big
He laughs like me
Has a temper and gets good grades
And in trouble for being a distraction in class
We struggle to feed him
Keeping him in shoes is an event
Biennial
And his scent
Is not good
In shining moments
(Becoming less rare?)
He stands up for his sister
And shows signs of gratitude
Now what must I do
To keep him from being
Food for an avenger’s bullet
A thief behind whose dark eyes and hot molten hatred
Lie
Disdain
Or worse, apathy
Snatched away, alone
In manner cold and surgical
Lying as a whisper
Wasted on the sand?
--Eric T. Marley
November 2003
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