by Joyce Ashuntantang (c)

Yesterday our son was your son alone

As he made touchdowns into your patriarchal heart

You pranced the sidelines showing off the semblance of your nose

Your chest moving ahead, you said “That’s my boy”

“He’s a chip off the old block”

Today he became my son

Because the police nailed him with ½ a pound of weed

Today he became my son

because no fool like that could have your blood in his veins

Today he became my son in a cold court house with papers to sign

But I am glad I am a mother

My son will always remain my son

Especially when he is helpless just like he was in my womb!

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