Patrilineage Poem by Justin Reamer

'Nine times out of ten, an abuse victim
Will succumb to his abuser, repeating the
Same monstrosities he suffered to other children.'
A clap of thunder rumbles in the distance as
This daunting statistic ruminates in my brain as
I watch the fog cover the Lake Michigan surface,
A confounding psychological state I can't comprehend.
If everyone has a legacy, I know not mine;
Whatever it is remains unclear, lost in the mist.

Looking into the fog, images of my father's legacy
Begin to surround me: a punch in the face,
Scars from the whiplash of a belt buckle,
A bear hibernating during the winter months,
Only to roar when rudely awakened by intruders.
Traumatic, inglorious memories were his legacy,
Causing subconscious pain and tears to fall from heaven,
A past too murky to even attempt comprehension.
It is all too painful to contemplate, but I wonder all the same:
If this was my father's legacy, then what is mine going to be?

As I look into the fog, I ponder the things I'll pass onto my sons,
The things I'll leave behind for them to remember me by.
Will I offer them a world of happiness, a field of grass to enjoy?
Or will I offer them sadness, a graveyard of misery to lament?
Contemplation brings no avail as the fog in its ambiguity
Envelops my mind in a mist of confounding confusion,
Masking every possible future with obscurity and opacity.
The future may be uncertain, though, but one thing is clear:
I have a choice to the man my children require of me,
Not another variable in the game of statistics.