Second Son

He looks like a grown up.
Tops me by ten or more inches now,
with a Calvin Klein undie-boy body
and a razor line of repartee.

He's signed on for the army in May,
already a veteran of his first O.E.

I know he'll survive without me there
to bandage his scrapes
and sing him to sleep.

But when he climbs out of my car
at his father's house
I see the blonde curls
of my two-year-old son,
clutching Brown Teddy
as he toddles inside.