-from the policy forms-

according to the findings of

several skewed methodologies,

my son is now near half my age, and

named as beneficiary to close-out the long form

of a tedious life insurance policy,

the bottom three lines left open

to accommodate clumsy explanations.

that mystifying bauble of 1976, swaddled in his young

mother’s arms; the raspy-throated struggle in his cry, the sudden,

angular movements of his head, capped in white cotton, the curious

gaze of his earliest eyes before the smile's development, the exaggerated

stress of his unapologetic yawn exposing the moist glazing

swept across his infant gums..

now the child's become a man who calls on occasion from the distant

edge of the continent's beam to ask: "how you doin'?"–– confident,

sincere, smart, and now it seems, half my age more or less,

leaving me to double-check the document in a cold sweat,

leafing through the long form, agonizing over my residence

from one place to the other place, to the place before that,

all to bequeath to him a sum of money when I croak.

well, maybe a few bucks more or less.