The purpose of today is: want your son.
You want him when he feels it, though
He may not know he feels it till you’re gone.
A father-gift is how to do a thing,
so give him, daily, gifts he clinks
inside his counting-house when you are gone.
By this fidelity the world is healed.

Fathers lacking gifts spread toxic seed:
all holocausts are on them and disdain
of your own son is treachery so black
all other sins are white beside it.
Better for the world if you were never born:
a pox on your vas deferens. So, hate
the Nobel prize, so, hate the masterpiece
and hate the cure for cancer: want your son.

You want him when he feels it.