Childhood

I had a father of my own.
How was it possible I was a father
when I was yet a child of my father?
I grew panicky and thought
of running away, but I knew
that if I did I would be scorned
for it by my father, and so I stood
still and listened to myself
being called Dad. How ridiculous
it sounded, but this child
in front of me calling me Dad,
asking for my attention—how could I
as a child ignore his plea
when in my own childhood and yet
feeling as a child I too had needed
the attention of my father and resented it
when he refused, and so I lifted
this one into my arms and hugged him
as I would have wanted my father
to hug me, and it was
as if satisfying my own lost childhood.

~ David Ignatow ~