Donald Hall's "My Son, My Executioner"

Today’s poem is for everyone who knows that children keep you young, but also know how old you feel while it’s happening.

Hall, taken aback by the success of this poem, expressed some regret that he became “the fellow whose son strapped him into the electric chair,” explaining that its inspiration came from 2 a.m. bottle-feedings that he conducted “with pleasure.” Happy reading.