In the beginning. Yes, really, the very beginning
We were created (or so they say) out of clay
Before us there was darkness and deep waters
Desolate lands. Until God did his stuff. I’d imagine
That he must have been the star pupil in art class.

That was the prologue and we, I assume,
Are the epilogue. I acknowledge that our history
Is embedded in me. But I do not wish to be
Enslaved – every gene awash with ancestry
I want to be me, me, me and me alone.

It is Christmas here and as we decorate the tree
I watch my triplets and wish that there were only me.

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