Perhaps he would be nine now

nine in some cold uncaring orphanage

or nine in the luxury of some

ritzy suburb

nine years into life

cursing our anonymity

yet longing to know his past

nine now, and soon nineteen

to be parenting bastards of his own.

Would we have broken under

being parents at nineteen?

The real bastards - us.

Thoughts in vain

he didn't even live to see

the second trimester.