Inheritance

I hear my father’s and my mother’s voices
Inside my head. And when I face hard choices
I do not find they give the same advice.
My mother sweetly leaned toward the nice,
My father strongly leaned toward the tough.
Yes, underneath his trial lawyer’s gruff
Exterior he had a softer side.
And behind my mother’s sweetness could be spied
A steely resolution. But it’s plain
That these two voices never will attain
Agreement as to what would be the best
Course of action. Beating in my chest,
My mother’s heart inclines in one direction,
While in my brain’s more analytical section,
My father’s eyes chart out alternative ways
To navigate what may be a hazardous maze.
How these two ever made a life together
Puzzles me at times. Regardless, whether
Or not they always saw things eye to eye,
They worked things out, and somehow they got by,
And left me here to try to work things out
Between their dueling legacies, which shout
Incompatible notions to my ear.
Of course, I’m old, and I have gotten clear
On most of this, but still, sometimes I hear
The two of them, and when I must decide,
I hope my judgment has been fortified
By the debate that’s going on inside.