i have no son, nor daughter, of my own
perhaps i should plant my seed, donate sperm
at least then there’d be someone out there,
to represent me, to carry the germ
he had but one son, here he is, it’s me
did he know of what she accused him
or that i exist, out there, somewhere?
Had he the slightest inkling, feeble, dim?
we missed each other by a country mile
did it haunt him, what he’d done, make a son?
her cry, rape, cut the tie ‘fatherhood’
unknown, no growing up, no toss-ball fun
what kind of man were you, my father?
what kind of man have i become, your son?