Poem | to the mother of my children.

Shall we hold hands and prey

our sons turn out bastards

so that our blood lines

survive.

Let’s all get together

and teach how being selfish

is selfless when everyone

distrusts kindness.

Let’s stage an intervention

thrust drinking neat vodka

and snorting cocaine,

or else they’ll

never be

happy.

And our daughters,

heaven forbid

they see men

as more than objects

Good god let them

despise male emotion

so they can remain

independent,

strong and hole

by themselves.

What if, I worry,

they start to take pleasure

in model making, daytime TV,

school, jogging and book clubs

What then!

I will have failed them

as a father.

Please god

I prey they

turn out

wrong.

or else they’ll

never be

happy.

…