I Only Think Of Babies When I Think Of Death

Do you ever think of having children
for the sole purpose of naming them?

For perhaps taking them to Disneyland and
leaving them at the entrance of Space Mountain?

Giving them a lollipop bigger than their face
and watching them trot clumsily to the duck pond?

Letting them take photos with all of the characters
and then running as fast as possible to the gate?

On the other side of that same coin,
I sometimes picture myself staring blankenly
At rows and rows of diapers and pacifiers

all the while

questioning all of the decisions that brought me
to that point in time in the aisle of a Walgreens.

Is it supposed to feel powerful to create
an actual human being, to take a piece of you
and watch it live and interact in front of you?

Would I point out all of the creative nuances in it,
look at my wife, say “f**k yeah, you’re welcome!”?

I only think of babies when I think of death.

I only think about being a dad when fathers die.

I dig for that sliver in me that wants
my life continued through another, younger me.

There is a battle that rages on, where more
responsibility is bringing on more water on this
already sinking ship I have built.

Son, daughter, all I can do is apologize in advance
for that one time, now, when I am shaking the great
8 ball of life and hoping I have a few more years
of selfishness left.