Extended Family

Yet like grandfather I bathe before the village crow
the dry chlorine water my only Ganges

The naked Chicago bulb a cousin of the Vedic sun
slap soap on my back like father
and think in proverbs

Like me I wipe myself dry
with an unwashed Sears turkish towel
like mother I hear faint morning song
(though here it sounds Japanese)

And three clear strings nextdoor
through kitchen clatter
like my little daughter I play shy

Hand over crotch my body not yet full
of thoughts novels and children

I hold my peepee like my little son
play garden hose in and out the bathtub
like my grandson I look up
unborn at myself
like my great great-grandson

I am not yet may never be
my future dependent
on several people
yet to come

See also  Of The Son Of Man by George MacDonald
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