A man gazes at his son
Remembering
The words his father said to him:
‘You’re a chip off the old block.’

His son looks up, sensing him there
‘Pa?’
Oh, it’s nothing, I was just thinking,
I used to sit like that too.

Thoughts turn to his father, again,
Bloodied
He limped up the porch stairs to hear –
‘You’re a fighter, just like me.’

Everybody tells him, that boy is your twin
Yes,
He is my golden boy, of course I’m proud
The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

My father said much the same thing,
But
Then I grew, and changed, and left
And my father’s pride left too.

And so, I wonder, as I look at you
Will
I love you, when you are grown,
And no longer the image of me?