[John Tyler Connoley,
Saturday August 1, 2009 at 5:00pm]
A Poem I Wrote Recently
To my godson, who is three
Dear boy, dancing in your room
in socks and nothing else,
while your mother downstairs reads the news,
would that I could keep you
from eating of the tree
of knowledge.
Would that you remain
innocent of disease,
perpetually ignorant of your own creeping death,
happy as a clam
in socks and nothing else.
Not that I won't rejoice
at your dissertations and degrees,
your first crush on a classmate,
your wedding in the rain.
Not that I don't dream
of long talks about religion, and philosophy, and literature.
I cherish already the confidences we'll keep
when your anger at your mother boils over
and your Uncle Tyler is there to listen.
I only dread the day you eat
and know your death,
the embarrassment on your face at twelve
when you read this poem, and think of little you
dancing
in your socks and nothing else.