Father

From those few drops of sperm

and that two bodied squirm

From that high rise of flesh

and lust that septic worm,

To the slow rot of metamorphosing skin

and the dull burn of past sin

To this erect man, a rising sun

and the sapient vision held within.

Always, always,

chains will bind us in our cells.

Biology has us in her strong hands,

giant test tubes shaking up

the virile mix of this steady universe

as we father,

try to climb above her double helix

into the soft arms of a mother

we know not.