One male for matriarchy.
In pleasure, perhaps, my parents procreated. I am a product.
My father gave me half of himself. An acid-washed gene jacket.
My mother, somewhat similarly, contributed herself. Stop.
For the following nine months, I stole from this woman.
Bits of her food, beverage, energy, health– lots and lots.
I proceeded to cause her tremendous pain; she didn’t cry.
I definitely did. Then, the task of nomenclature. I am___.
Mother couldn’t give me her name. It was already gone.
She first had her father’s name. Then my father’s.
I can only speak for myself. When I was made–
my mother carried the majority of the weight.
Winning bread. Bringing home bacon.
Chief laborers. Women and men.