Sons

Sons

I’ve been both the prodigal son and the son
Who stayed home, the wayward one
And the one who obeyed, the son
Who asked for his inheritance early
As if his father was already dead,
Only to squander it on drinking and whores
While also waking in the cold to do chores.
I’ve been the son who saw his father 
Running towards him and the son 
Who saw his father run. I’ve been the one 
The fatted calf was slaughtered for 
And the one for whom one never was.
And having been both sons,
I’ve been doubly loved.