The Boys

my sons were
long shin bones in thundercats pajamas
were erections in sleep
and foreskins
they needed knowledge and i tried to guide them
with my woman's way of finding out
what's needed to know

there was no daddy

to hold our first heart
to take that broken boy out to the pub
for beer and pool and that peculiar silence
in which men manage everything
and sometimes mend it

and together, spanned or yoked
we've somehow stumbled through the ages
arrived here
where they stay up later
kiss me on the forehead, listen to me shout
and argue wisely
they've made it without
and reached some manly way of living
apart from me, apart
but at my shoulder, one each side
any time there's trouble

they've done it -
instinct saw them through
but didnt take away the nights
when i wished for someone to take it on
the fright, the cold limbed need
the broad confusion of manhood stretching out
like the long bonnet of a car -
that cold
like a road you had to run
which went on and on and on