O Child of Divorce

 

O Child of Divorce, of Night and Day;

Rugged, right-thinking Day, leading the way,

His broad callused hand wrapping your shoulder.

“You’ll be grateful to me when you’re older.”

He’s under hard-hat with his blueprint of Rome.

“It’s tough champ, I know.  But she broke our home.

I won’t have her filling my boy with illusion.

Dreams, poems, wishes, regrets—that’s confusion.

Trust only what throws a shadow in sun.

Put your money there Pal and the battle’s half-won.”

He’s right!  So you work and slave till the sun is gone,

Building Rome by the stone, then you’re sure he’s all wrong,

When Night in perfume, her worried left hand

Smoothing your hair, asks, “What did he say? That man.

Rome!—try Gary, Dear.  He’s just sweating brawn

Barging in with his shouts to part us at dawn,

When your home’s here with me, with Keats and the moon.

Your prayers, love.  Now sleep.  A dream will come soon.

You can raise Atlantis if you wish to then.

(Have you noticed he’s getting shorter again?)”

And you smile to yourself as you feel her kiss.

Tomorrow, you're running away to the circus.

 

 

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