twenty years later….

a smile a cuddle a sigh a cry a scream a hand it’s a boy,

hold him he’s beautiful your eyes your hair i love you

ready dear hold this opens car door careful now safely in

oops dear nearly slipped here’s the diapers

he’s clean

bottle mix burps a bit got it up relaxes begins to snooze

a fireman maybe a doctor she sighs could be a teacher

images pictures habits relentless the shape of things to come

twenty years later what became of the little man,

anyone’s guess what we do wrong nobody has the answers,


see her head turns looks down want some of that, hey!

it’s the way you rare them i suppose!


Solomon is in therapy

bruised cut and bleeding she lies on the floor, the small eyes stare from under the table what happened, his mind dented, a memory that won’t erase easily. She wipes her face looks at her hand, examines the blood on it then she see’s, it wasn’t meant to be like this she sighs, she takes him to her arms, her blood on his back as she tries to smother him lovingly, stuff a little child should not see.

Solomon listened, he was reading the story of a fallen hero, who never knew he was one of the addicted, Solomon

remarked, this has been going on for fifty years, well, only those with the cash can afford therapy.