After the Roast, Advice to an Angry Son

If your children ever ask you,
Have you ever…
They don’t want the truth, but do.
Honesty is not the same as love.

But should you feel compelled
To someday tell them how you’ve flown,
Where you roost, be sure to choose
Today’s mistakes like eggs.

The night may come your son
Will feed them to you rapid-fire,
One by one, just to watch you
Gorge and puke up bruise-eyed embryos.

Choked sobs and combed excuses
Will not be enough to redeem you
Or him, or your parents’ parents’ parents.
In the beginning, the nest got robbed.

Furious, beautiful boy, I know.
This is how we try to straighten up
And fly right, broken and young,
Before our chickens come home.

2014