What do you say to Ishmael,
The spurned child, the second best—
Sorry, lad, but your mom was just
A handmaiden, a tweeny like,
And Sarah was godawful pissed?
Father a race, why don't you? That
Would show him, Father of his kind.
They made it to Vienna, but
It's couches there, not ottomans.
One each. Don't pus. And Isaac, he
Got to be a major moral bit:
The proof of how you love someone
Is where you'll put the knife when told.
That ram was someone's Ishmael,
A woolly spot of sacrifice.
How many times did Isaac ask
His dad to have a catch, you think?
When cards arrived for Ishmael—
Birthday, Christmas, 4th of July—
Mom tore them up and threw them out.
Ishmael gathered up the bits.
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