Raising an Only Child

Dad, this is none of your business!

You never had sisters or brothers

to fight. And you stand abashed

again, an only child. Lone species

from two multi-sibling parents

who found you a mystery.

You can be made an only child

by rivals who fail early

and give back your lullaby.

You can see sibbling taught

by the instant rally of a cohort

that, were you theirs, would defend you

though with the same giggles

about bossiness or dalliance—

You do have brains, but no sense!

Employable only solo or top,

making friends from your own kind

is relief with blades in it,

assorted long adolescences

with whoop and giddy wit:

You can’t have anything!

and I, the only true human.

But also reproach from your own:

Dad, you laughed and joked way more

with your rat-pack adopted children

than us. And you stammer

I wasn’t answerable for them—

Some go off to reboot

and you sit, recalling sorrier

links of your self-raising chain.

Les Murray