Discussion

Hey, I was reading this poem today and found it pretty interesting. I was wondering what are your thoughts, analyze, meaning of this poem?

On My Son’s Seventeenth Birthday

Over there,
by seventeen,
if so lucky to have survived till then,
he has planted enough body parts
to grow a family
to populate his village again
to recall a history
to trace a genealogy back to the root

but the problem is
body parts make for bad memories,
ad seeds and bad blood.

Over here, being seventeen is a divine right
To feel carefree and immortal,
And a excuse for a shopping spree

But the problem is
The price of shopping
Is a numbness of the other’s misery.

Over there,
By seventeen,
If s lucky to have survived till then,
He has an “Ism” and a gun
And desire for someone to shoot at

Because
For someone to make a killing
Someone must die

Over here,
At seventeen,
He has shopping bags waiting
To be filled with goods
By seventeen-year-olds
Who has sown body parts

But the problems,
In the changing room, when they come face to face,
They see each other
Not in mirrors
But in cross-hairs