Ian Willey
Like Father, Like Son
Asked what he wanted to be when he grew up
my son answered, without looking up from his drawing,
that he’d either be a pilot or a Triceratops,
which made our guest laugh, but not me,
because I’d thought more or less the same thing
when I was his age, though instead of a Triceratops
I’d wanted to be an Ankylosaurus, because its whole body
including its eyelids was covered in thick, spiky bone,
an armor impenetrable to even
the most determined predator.
Ian Willey writes poetry without rhyme or reason.
