lost time by Jake Ormrod

some baby in the back end of the pub is staring at my hair
and while i wouldn't usually care
i'm more than a little worse for wear today
and it's really getting to me.

her small eyes glitter with innocence
but the sticky fingers that make up her curled fist
are rubbing indistinct muck into the precious orbs
left to be absorbed by the optic nerve
that will hopefully serve her well till old age
show her the cruelty she'll fight
a battle against the right in the name of decency.

this isn't usual for me.

i'm usually ambivalent towards kids
but as i said i'm feeling fragile
so my mind is reeling at the possibility inside that bulbous head.
i hope she's not easily lead
that she spends her life looking after the needy
not pulled in by the selfish and the greedy
into a life that's importance is based on a larger wage
a grand stage to show off her material accomplishments.

she will love in obscurity
in the slums of the city
no pity for the ones who need her
always offering
never demanding
just standing at the precipice and screaming into the void
at the annoyed
who would have silence over education
who would have people know their place

all this,
conjured up,
by that baby's staring face.

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