Look, Ma, it's your grandson . . .
Hold him tighter momma.
Watching you with him reminds,
Me of the parent I set out not to be.
As a child I would come home,
After the moon had already been up
For hours on end, just for your attention,
Or at least to pretend like you cared for me.
Take the time to look at me! Shake your head,
in disapproval, Momma! Make me cry once more.
Well look, Ma, here's your grandson.
Can you not even fake a smile for him!
You hold him as if he's a ticking time-bomb,
And if you show him affection he'll rub off on you,
Leaving clues for the police that,
You may have a heart!
Ma, . . . here's your son.
At fourteen, having to stand up,
And be the adult that you found too hard to be.
Raising a child in a world too hard too feel lonely.
Look, Ma, there goes your grandson.
From your veiny arms where blood is a possession,
To my bosom where my heart and love
Are always at attention, waiting for him.
Look Ma, maybe one day you'll open your heart,
And see much more than a waste of space.
Maybe you'll learn to love someone again, and realize
That I'm not your husband, and I won't leave you.
Maybe you'll find it within yourself
To smile once at my son. Don't you owe at least that to me?
We live in a world too harsh and cold
To ever grow up feeling lonely.

