The Gardener's Fork

His father’s gardening fork sits
comfortably in new hands,
smoothened shaft already changed 
at least three times, 
over two contiguous lifetimes.
 
In his hands, it probed the crumbling ridge,

revealing the nested potatoes like
growing children awaiting the tines 
of his bitter self-loathing.

He constantly prodded their underdeveloped 
resentment, until hollowed 

and hungry, they finally left the nest, 

reared as they were, to accept the kind 

of love they thought was their due.

And so the generations spend their birthright,

each passing the coin from generation

to generation; each child sharing 

the guilt of the father, each parent concealing

their hurt, as a gift to the child.

                                                                               ©Niall OConnor 2024