Gift

So you were the fairy godfather,
wetting the baby's head with whiskey
at the doctor's nine months later.

Nowadays they call them genes,
gift the giver keeps; double helix,
barley sugar twist, helter skelter.

Beat-up the drum at jazz practice
when your pa spilled the beans;
married his cousin, saved your name too.

On the town, tricksy thing in your pocket
and a packet of condoms; tried to lose it
like warts in a pouch of stones for another to catch.

Kept mum at marital confession time;
took the gene like a little rib from your body
and made more. Bad fairies all.

Published in South 35