Shall we begin, says my shrink,
Now tell me what you think,
If I ask you what you remember,
All about your mother,
Not the ego and the id,
But just your time as a kid?
In truth, there isn’t much to say.
She would not let me have my way.
Her own fears to me she projected,
My natural instincts stifled and rejected,
From childhood to adulthood, so much regret,
Such a trying time, I would much rather forget.
But I have imagined, in some alternate history,
I was a singular person of some notoriety?
Sired in secrecy, mired in anonymity,
A libertine Don Juan, a rake of profligacy,
From the Virgin Queen I sprang, in this other reality,
That scion of Elizabeth, a bastard of the monarchy.
© 2020 S Phua