Amen from the pastor and she pops, champagne fizz
baptism for the baby dripping placenta castor. A boy!
Christen him Matthew. Stake his name to a crucifix
destined by the blood of Dad’s rules: hard work now
earns more for your children. Buy an American SUV
for patriotism. Listen to what Father’s saying to you,
God willing you can do anything: a mixed president/
heart surgeon, upper class the predestination, A-plus
in society’s image. Obey me and you’ll be the martyr
Jesus imagined: Messiah-skinned. You’ll be the GQ
kindred of Sun Tzu, winning wars with words in rap
lyrics, violence unfounded, peace poem dedicated to
my mother about the son unwell, why we must ween
newborns before dependence, like God said to Adam
One day you will certainly die but your labor and toil
pains last only a moment. Without fight you will sink
quickly into habits, bumming cigs and smoking ganj
reefer like migrants, Father has a nightmare where I
stand on street corners begging for money and I wish
that he knew. I wish I was brave enough, and strong
under heaven. I will look at glared faces, chagrin of
vehicles avoiding manslaughter. No cash just change
washing off wet cardboard. Dad’s tears are the sacred
X factor. They’ll know our name one day. Our music
yearns to be heard from every peak because we climb
zeniths endlessly. Look east! The sun rises over a sea.