(This Be) The Sorry Verse (Poetry)

I had a kid — I spawned a sprog
amid the frantic throes of love —
endured the single parent slog
and gave posterity a shove

thinking I could break the mould —
kick destiny in its smug crutch —
yet still its wretched plan unrolled —
genetics surfaced — plain as rust.

I should have taken Phil’s advice —
evicted that sly cuckoo’s egg —
nobody wins by playing nice —
go listen to old Lark instead.