Poetry Archives

Franklin fathered bastards fourteen,
     (So I read in the New Yorker);
If it’s true, in terms of courtin’
     Benny must have been a corker.
To be prudent I’ve aspired,
     And my passions I have mastered;
So that I have never sired
               A single bastard.

One of course can never know;
     But I think that if I had
It would give me quite a glow
     When a kiddie called me ‘Dad.’
Watching toddlers at their play,
     Parentage I’d gladly claim,
But their mothers smiling say:
               ‘You’re not to blame.’

Ben founded the Satevepost,
     And for that I much respect him;
But fourteen is quite a host
     Paternally to elect him.
‘Fatherhood is not a crime,’
     Deemed fat Ben, ‘there could be others . . .
Darlings, I had not the time
               To wed your mothers.’