But Its For The Children...

Imagine your new, squalling baby,
the hopes, the heart, the love, the clasping hands,
the rare unwoken night, the early smile, the throwing up,
taking her round the house to welcome her to her home.

Imagine waking up one morning to discover your child
had become a hollow, plastic shell,
a light, cold, unmoving, hard and nasty toy,
with cracked, fake red cheeks, and a price tag on her foot.

Imagine your baby was named Vitality,
and now comes in a cardboard and cellophane package
marked Christmas.

image: po

Dylan Harris
86-87

it's my hands
my difficulty with melancholy
hence the coldness
fear in flight, god
dog sea
push pop
all
publish

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