Still magnetized to his genetic source,
A Tangle-faced boy, far from worry proclaims:
“WE ARE ALL SONS!”
(and now local heads are riveted)
With equal parts conviction,
and real-time epiphany,
Thoughts being unraveled word-by-word beneath his tiny brow
His arms had bloomed into a massive “v”,
His face alight with new and passing knowledge,
Sending his discovery radiating off to light the darkness.
He is the source of approximate light,
Unrestrained by time and Other,
I think he nailed it.
He looks to me, quiet stranger, for a cue,
As he toddles to a shelf with heavy texts,
There are things hidden between the bindings:
A Robot, a Stick, a Truck.
He chooses the truck, and I nod.
I would have nodded for the Robot, especially.
We are all sons, dude.