Stephen Kampa Twenty-First Century Prothalamion
Because my parents had successful genes
And read the proper toddler magazines,
I won cross-country races in my teens.Because police patrolled my neighborhood,
Driving the potheads out, I understood
And could respect the need for moral good.I read deep books in college, studied quarks
And Caravaggio’s violent lights and darks,
And kissed your neck one evening as the sparksFlew upward from a bonfire and starred the air.
I leaned against you, smelled your wood-smoked hair
And held your hand, and knew why I was there:Amino acids, habit, data. Fate.
I also felt the need to procreate.
That night I chose you, love, to be my mate.