A man lies awake at night, weighed down by a vague sense of regret. The opening lines are oddly physical: he "sends vibrations" and does "some shuffling," as if he can't settle, restless in body as well as mind. Then comes a blunt line, "I'm the son of a corporation man," which suggests he measures himself against a father tied to work and career, though the poem doesn't say how he feels about that background.
The central worry is stated plainly: he can't justify his existence. Insomnia makes that doubt louder, the way small fears grow in the dark. The only answer he finds is his children. The last line, "Thinking: they are what makes me special," reads as both comfort and reaching. The word "Thinking" makes it sound like something he tells himself, not something he's sure of. The mood is quiet, uneasy and honest, with a thin thread of tenderness running through the doubt.