AS WE DRIVE

As we drive
past the barbarism
of the broken school,
ancient book
and leaking roof,

he asks why
on the TV last night
all the poor
were black babies.

As we drive
past the jaws
of the shopping
mall,

stream of customers,
sky of blue,

in one window
gazing out at us
latest action figure
of the war economy,

he asks why
his penis
in the bathroom
grows bigger.

The black babies question
I can handle,

in the tradition
of me asking
my father

a million years
ago

why the sky
is blue
or the grass
is greener.

The grass was green
because of photosynthesis

and the sky blue
because of wavelengths.

The penis one
I admit is
a little trickier.

The penis
lifts off
like a balloon
from its anchor

on the voyage
to a strange new land

as in the story
of the papa lamb
lying down
with the mama lamb

and that is how
we all began
I read to him
last summer.

But let me
tell you:

it is a terrible thing
when you can't drive
your own son
to childcare