You are on the threshold
Of manhood
Barely 19
A December baby
Like my daughters  

Your eyes could be those of
My father
My brother
My nephew
The son I never had  

Your cheeks are pock-marked
With acne
The kind that will scar  
The record says
You spent a month in solitary

And still you aren’t
Penitent: you aren’t sorry
You refuse to obey orders
You try to escape  

You were a boy once
What scars do you carry 
What         (or)         who     raised
This rage in you