Who am I without the drawn out mornings

On my tree-lined street.

The school kids are in a make-belief frenzy,

Hollering across the pavement.

As I sit incubating.

So it starts with communication,

Between the dinner table and my mother’s brittle bone antics.

She’s twisting the fork around her ozempification salad

Playing the ‘guess who I saw’ game with a dead ringer.

And I never seem to mind, but even when I do

The earth hollows out, reaffirming that I am best enjoyed

When I am the favorite boy.

I have my father’s eyes and his shell of a spirit.

There is paradise and then there is rebellion.

Found in ecstasy sat between your wide-set eyes.

If I keep looking for the resemblance,

It will justify how she bent towards the corridor.

My Mother Mary and her celestial surveillance.

It has always made me laugh,

And I shall sit in it like a songbird with the shiniest cage.