My Sons (Psychology)

The one son who appears the same as me 

     has a very different disposition,

The son whose seed blew far from the tree

     has his father's taste for cool sedition.


They have formed me as much as I've formed them,

My wife formed us all, made us into men

     who can parse a line but not sew a hem,

Our now reforms and is formed by our then.


With neither have I ever raised my voice. 

With my wife--well, that's a diff'rent story,

I told them both that anger is a choice,

That cars pose risks commonplace and gory.


They lived in the unheavenly city,

They made it marginally more pretty.




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