For My Son

My son, David, is going to be thirty next week. I wrote this poem for him about ten years ago. I don’t know if he will appreciate that I post “David.” However, I am posting it because I like what I wrote. And I am posting it because I love my son.

David

I remember that little boy
Who asked me: “Daddy when
Am I gonna get hair under my
arms?” “When are my muscles
Gonna get big?” “I’m too skinny.
Daddy, do I have cancer?”
I would try to reassure you, but
The questions soon returned.

Now I look, proudly, at you
A little thinner than Michelangelo’s
David, yet your Sculptor’s
Art is true—with your almost
Perfectly economical athlete’s
Body: Tall with wide finely
Muscled shoulders, defined
And well proportioned chest,
Biceps like large solid stones,
Stomach, flat and slightly cut,
And legs like strong young
Tree trunks.
And you still complain!
Be satisfied!

Not only does your body
Reflect your namesake,
So too does your
Strong and
Sensitive and
Caring Spirit.


Robert Jost

More Truth

My son David and I still get together and go fishing. He's almost thirty now. From the time when he was a baby we have enjoyed each others' company. We had good times camping when he was a small child.

Truth

laying in a chaise lounge
drinking a bottle of cheap
beer looking up
at the afternoon light
through the umbrella
of oak leaves
my son playing with his
toy grader in the
dirt of our shaded
day spangled campsite


Robert Jost