Atticus Morales

Baby, let’s have a son
We’ll name him Atticus
Atticus Morales
No, not after that Atticus
But the other one

And we’ll love him dearly
Feed him fried beans and indie TV
We’ll open up fat books
And songs with hooks
We’ll train him right
Tonight and every night

And you can show him chick shit
The zodiac
The Oprah
And I’ll show him football
And fists
Rusted knives and beer

And he’ll be captain of the team
The lead guitar player
Banging Kelly, Shelly, and Sally
And the gods will smile and say his name
for all my brothers to hear:

“Atticus, you kick ass.”

And we’ll feel blessed
And we’ll say it’s so
As roses fall from the sky
Over our shoulders
Passed our trampy street
The envy of so many it’s fucking sick

So what do you say, baby?
Me
You
Atticus Morales
Half Mexican and the five
or six things you got going

Atticus Morales
A/tti/cus Morales