A Parent Is a Shotgun

A parent is a shotgun protecting households and acres, it turns on enemies without question, a trigger pulled at foul friend. A parent is a cloud craning neck from afar - revealing sun to enlighten, then rain to dampen mood but nourish, replenish. A father is a road with heart shaped lines marking countryside, lanes crossing a patchwork of grass and tarmac, hair and skin – aged. A mother is a sheet swaddling each babe in white, in cotton clean - a chrysalis warming the child til spring, til wings spread. A parent is a clock tracing the ticks of blood and bond, tracking the tocks of kin reborn; the line continuous