Our Son
Our first son will be named after the American Revolution
A child from the past bred into our future
A boy in the bathtub serenading his Armada
We will count stars and Pyramids
Together in the heat not far off from the riverbed
Where mother and woman may always be at War.

Our second son will be named after the Civil War
An uncensored Revolution
Of a child who will walk upon the water of his own riverbed
Teasing doves into flight; I will teach him the language of the future
And he will stand in defiance of the world like the Pyramids
As he hypnotizes mermaids into a mythical Armada.

Our third son will be named after the Spanish Armada
And Spidery moth yawns will adorn his vacant War
He will solve the riddle of the Pyramids
And idle through the pages of each book praising the Revolution
Of his birth as though any map can be undertaken to chart the future
of honesty; and when you need him you will find him at the riverbed.

Our fourth son will be named after the riverbed
He will command the winds and elements, though he will fear to board the Armada
He will always leave me laughing in the face of the future
And his lover will be an Amazon brave at War
with the dim Revolution
of time conquering the crippled Pyramids.

Our fifth son will be named after the shadow of the great Pyramids
Nestled far east by the riverbed
The only other Revolution
He will know is the one fought with his older brothers, sailing their Armada
Into the heat of another man's War
He will stand in the desert and eat his silvery future.

Our daughter will be named after my own future
Long after my sons have become lost to me like the great Pyramids
And still the War
rages; a heavy burden on the people defaced by the riverbed
Where other ships sail, though none are the Armada
of my sons destined Revolution.

All is tangled in the War, we wait for word though future
Echoes the calamity of the Revolution, no one knows why the Pyramids
Stand so far off from the riverbed, my sons sail east on the Armada.