Sons Who teach themselves to shave. Who cover their mouths when they eat. Who blow all the candles out. Who sweep up their own hair. Who paint their ceilings blue. Who kiss the books they love. Who get an extra house key cut. Who sift through capitalism's scraps. Who go to the opening in a dress, in tears. Who need only one blanket actually. Who take an awfully long shower. Who leave after a second cup of coffee. Who worry that we'll worry about them. Who wish we wouldn't worry.
I really enjoyed this poem. The repetition of 'Who' gave it a lovely flow. I just want to wrap up these sons in a huge hug.