affection

The toys I played with as a boy were clearly marked

with the dark shadow of possessive ownership;

I gripped them tight, while learning that property rights

are fight-worthy subjects - to have and to hold.

Bold as once I may have been, the fear

appeared soon enough that the world was mustering

to thrust their knives deep in my shivering belly

with hellish glee, if I didn't let them take it.

Awakened also was the latent fear of eternal

paternal rejection - that the heritage should pass instead

to the dread tribe of siblings - or that Mummy should abscond

with the bonding treasure of our never-doubted love.

With all that's on my plate (and much to spare,)

it's sad I find it difficult to share.