OK.
So that's Sunday.
The next poem kind of goes to one of my few life
philosophies, which is you are who
you are and you ain't who you ain't and it's
called "Birth Order".
Each of you the same since birth.
The first early refusing to share this world, breached.
When forced to present quiet and determined
you did as we pleased.
The second timely, full force shoulders
breaking mother from end to bloody end
twisted and threatened rapidly rushing
from the protected quiet to a cold steel operating room.
Baby giving false impressions fooling
those who know better then falling without effort
into nurses hands.
Running from parking lot to delivery so fast
the blood came in buckets.
Always the father is pushed away useless
to the bodily business of the world.
Yes, you all remain the same.
Your birth has shaped you.
Quiet and determined, forceful and in the way,
quick and easy to make others sacrifice.
In my science experiment I will ask every mother
how her child entered this new space then
I would understand the man as he emerged before himself.
Still, I would never ask after my birth.
Would it be human to possess the fragile knowledge
of that sweet fruit.