Extended Family : A K Ramanujan

 Yet like grandfather

  I bathe before the village crow

  the dry chlorine water

  my only Ganges

  the naked Chicago bulb

  a cousin of the Vedic sun

  slap soap on my back

  like father

  and think

  in proverbs

  like me

  I wipe myself dry

  with an unwashed

  Sears turkish towel

  like mother

  I hear faint morning song

  (though here it sounds

  Japanese)

  and three clear strings

  nextdoor

  through kitchen

  clatter

  like my little daughter

  I play shy

  hand over crotch

  my body not yet full

  of thoughts novels

  and children

  I hold my peepee

  like my little son

  play garden hose

  in and out

  the bathtub

  like my grandson

  I look up

  unborn

  at myself

  like my great

  great-grandson

  I am not yet

  may never be

  my future

  dependent

  on several

  people

  yet

  to come

-- A K Ramanujan