"I don't know my father,"
He whispers to me one day,
Head down,
Eyes staring at nothing...
He continues harshly,
" I really don't care-
But sometimes I wonder,
If I am like him,
Or if he is like me...
Is he tall?
Strong?
Mean or nice?
And why doesn't he write me?
Or want to see me?
If I had a son,
I would never leave him...

It doesn't matter, he assures me,
"But sometimes I wonder,
If he walks like me,
Or if I sound like him..."

His dark secret revealed at last,
He breathes a sign of relief,
And turns away,
This boy-man,
Struggling to find his way,
In a harsh world-

I want to hug him,
reassure him what a fine son
He would be to any man...
But it's not me he wants to hear it from,
And I curse the fool,
Who left this fine boy,
To face the world alone...