PASSING BY

As she screamed at him
To shut the
FUCK
up
And begged him
Not to make her hurt him

As her pulse throbbed in her pasty vein
And her fists were born
From hand-fulls of anger

As passers-by faltered
Fumbled at best
Mumbling protests
Keen to do just what their name implied
Pass-by

By-pass the scenes of so many stereotypes
Shouting in streets
So unseemly
So seldom unseen
In these times of reality queens and kings

Things so different these days
Than the ways ‘We’ were dragged up in
The ironic mention of lives lived before
Purely to draw one’s attention
To what’s wrong
With the youth of today

Funny
How ladies with money
Relate to that tragic old-timer
Respect
Much neglected now, they regretfully agree
You see
Way back when
All it took was a stern look
Shook your nerves, so it did
No back chat after that

And then there’s the crowd brought up proud
But penniless
Proper old gents
Hell bent on walking with sticks
Though, as they insist,
Heaven knows they don’t need ’em

Discipline did ’em no harm
Calmed ’em down
Found ’em places on ladders
Had ’em charming and courting the fairer sex
None of this carrying on
In clubs and discotheques

All of this they carry in their mutterings
As they hurry past
The spewing, spluttering sickness
Of the scene in the street

The scene we all wish we could un-see
When we close our curtains
Climb into the comfort of our homes
Our havens
Our little slices of heaven
When, drifting off to dreams
We suddenly see
His face

Flinching in fear
As she tears at his tiny heart
With the words
“Get in your FUCKING buggy –
NOW.”

And our souls shatter
As we silently whisper
Over and over again….

…’Why didn’t I stop her…???’

Smack her
Slap her
Show her his face
From behind the mask of her madness?

Slow her and scare her
And tell her I’m God
And dare her to do it again?

Grab him and grow him
And show him
A world where love can be showered upon him
And he can be
Three
Years
Old

Braver than all of us
That little boy
Standing his ground
At around two foot four
More of a man than the mob
Marching past
Fast as their feet would allow

And where is he now?
How will we find him
And fall at his feet?
Beg his forgiveness
For leaving him stranded
On the street
In the hands of a staggering mistake of a mother

No other words will suffice
Except
Sorry

So sorry
Sweet angel

So sorry

September 2009 – Brighton, UK

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