A Lemonade Poem by RIC BASTASA

IF the new born
could have been given
the choice

it could have chosen
Me as its father

It stares and looks
confused
why it is beside you
and why you are looking
at it
as though you are
the new owner of
a calf

But taste my tongue
it is as sour as
as a newly picked
lemon
from an arid garden
in that war torn
city

What i told God
is that
I am not choosing
any

I do not like its
neck
It is too short for
my musing.