The very first chance I had at courting your mother
was a complete failure on my part. I invited her
to join a party my roommates and I were hosting,
and just as she pulled up in her significant blue sedan,
a drunken applause broke out celebrating a friend’s birthday.
We were young, me more young and wild than just young,
and an excuse to exercise my wildness had unexpectedly flowered
with feigned precedence. If I had known that ten years later
she and I were going to be smiling over your kicks and squirms
in a cramped womb, readying the world for you to join it,
I wouldn’t have brushed her off for a drink with a friend
now no more than an acquaintance.