Ode To My Unborn Fourth Child

I would have taught you
how to play basketball
on a 3-by-4-meter hardcourt.
I would have taught you
how to scribble pencil marks
on bare walls.
But you wouldn’t have needed
my help with that.
I would have taught you
how to fish with bamboo pole,
nylon line, sand centipede on hook;
cook little ciclids
on open fire of coconut leaves.
I would have taught you
one-step sparring
and disarming pretty girls
with quick footwork and a smile;
as you put me in my place
with a stern look.
But love wasn’t so kind
the first time around.