Is Not Our

My father loved steak
And rare hamburger,
A teetotaler.

His father preferred
Steak tartare and scotch whisky,
Whose father also scarfed steaks,
Whiskey, any kind, and beer.

I’m neither proud nor ashamed
Of any of them,
Them or who I am.

What the beasts who learned to speak
Without ceasing to compete
For social recognition
Feel about themselves

Is not our mission.
Our mission is the caring,
The meaning itself,
The meaning of transmission.