ex exor citizenim did nothing. colt 45, crazy horse they demand the sacrifices in blood so bottles would go to the couch friday night. walls kicked until straight jackets lay waiting on the lawn. mama would site visions of gang boys with metal vent as if it explained anything. it didn't between dusk from the and dawn saturday he was ready to blow the -- up. do you want some of this? oh , no, yes oh , no or yes , i will be damn, i will be damn, i will be damn. [applause] >> this is called someone else's child. and i guess it's a sort of an imagined conversation with a took place in a real moment in my father's hospital room in a matter of weeks before he died. my father is my foster father and there was always in my life this level of awkwardness because i was not biologically his own son. and he and i never got to have the conversation that i imagined here on page in this piece. so, there is a lot of truth in it. and here we go. someone else's child. >> i'm going to write a poem about you, i said. shall i tell the