Forebears fashion you.
Confluences of the slew
of influences which assail,
afflict, affect, embrace
and feed your chances
of a life proceed as keenly
as a surgeon’s knife
throughout your tenure
as a living being here.
Capacities to see or hear
or think or taste or smell
will swell and ebb inexorably
as genetic markers draw you
through their web. My daddy
had flat feet and Alzheimer’s,
and boy, was he a crooner.
I have his voice, a bit,
and feet, and wonder how
the rest of him will treat
me with its legacy, years
from now, or sooner.
.
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