Had you been born,
my Tibetan bowl and whale song
would have been deafened by
dawn-struck alarm clocks
and ***** down my album sleeve.

Had you been born,
I would be toiling dishonest fields
for an honest go at living.
I would be sober for an evening
and wake with habitual ease.

Had you been born,
none of these words would be written
and poetry could only reside
in the spelling of your name
and your clumsy, childish gait.

Had you been born,
you would have stolen all love,
to the point I would hate myself
and only find fractions of it
in the women I would meet.

Had you been born,
I would have learned how to speak
in assertive tones
to regiment your mind,
to distil you from violence.

Had you been born,
I would now be an adult
with no margin for error,
no time for a future,
but with the promise of a home.