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To David
It was easier
Than I thought,
your being born,
I mean. The time
was short, shorter
because I was there
to clock the minutes
between pangs. The pain
was measured, was rhythmical,
was not painful to watch.
Your mother caught it,
worked with it,
and I stood by.
The birth push began:
Just one more, one more,
good, fine good
relax.
They asked me,
Would you like to see
the head? I looked
and saw only a cheesey
ball. Your mother smiled
and motioned me home
to write a poem.
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