The Young Fathers

Christian Ward Poetry, Full of Crow, June 2009

The young fathers in the maternity
ward's waiting room wear the new

language inked on their skin
uncomfortably, scratching honesty

and wisdom like dogs trying to shake
off fleas. I sit amongst them, trying

to resist the pain from the word
newborn, its perfect o a new moon

determined to make me navigate
life through other means; abandon

the constellations I hold close.