My mother was a Methodist,
My father was a knife
And with the methods of the day
She cloned my little life.
She wanted just one perfect clone
Without an errant gene
A proper little copied kid
To echo and be seen.
But I’m not like my mother– much
Although we look the same
Although we share our DNA
And answer to one name.
For I am not a Methodist,
And when I come to breed
I shall be Catholic with genes
And share in joyful greed.
Spring 2000, Swansea.
