All gospels spell it out the same way. In the beginning,
     there was a promising baseball card collection
and casserole dinners. From there, the stories diverge.
     One goes thus: an invitation begot a coffee break
begot a matinee begot her legs wrapped tightly
     around his legs begot a mortgage begot a child.
The child wasn't the child they wished for but he was
     a child. He had many qualities that marked him
as a child. His first word was alpha, the word they knew
     him by thereafter. He grew and lived among them
until they kicked him out for general laziness. Take
     a bath, they called. Take your comic books. Take
a hike, so he hiked for forty minutes at a comfortable pace
     of forty meters per hour. Then he spent time
wandering the desert in his Honda Civic hatchback,
     drinking from a canteen and talking to stick figures
he drew in the sand. Then he cast himself down
     on a friend's couch. He mastered Metroid there,
perfected Mac and Cheese. There he gathered men
     around him, saying "Let's go fish," saying, "Someone
bring some goddamn beer." Someone brought some goddamn beer.
     They fashioned a fishing boat from a life raft,
cast out nets and caught lake trout. That night
     they feasted on everything but bones.
An "I-Can't-Stand-My-Father" chant started up,
     but soon it lost their interest.
Someone pointed to the stars and said, "We made all this.
     Can you believe it?" No one could believe it.