Our Fathers

A narrated poem that is my own exact experience. Dedicated to my own father, despite his failings.

A Father’s Prayer

Our fathers who aren’t in heaven
Hard-working be thy name;
Thy hands are blistered;
Thy will is administered;
on weekends as it is on weekdays.

Giving us each day food on the table.
And forgiving us kids our lazy ways
as we forgive you and your outbursts.
Leading us not into more debt
but delivering us from it.

For thine home was our kingdom,
of safety and security
for life to carry on.

Ah men!

…………………………………………

Father

From those few drops of sperm
and that two bodied squirm

From that high rise of flesh
and lust that septic worm,

To the slow rot of metamorphosing skin
and the dull burn of past sin

To this erect man, a rising sun
and the sapient vision held within.

Always, always,
chains will bind us in our cells.

Biology has us in her strong hands,
giant test tubes shaking up
the virile mix of this steady universe
as we father,
try to climb above her double helix
into the soft arms of a mother
we know not.