Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

Mother labors birthing him. His dark eyes slide away. Mother labors, nurtures him. His interest seems to stray. Mother labors, entertains. He never looks her way. She takes his hand. Building towers, brick by brick, smooth wood on palm outstretched; he doesn’t glance, but smiles at towers; she loves him.

Kids fight every night. Mothers scream. Nobody dreams. Then cops arrest and shout. Kids fight. Cop calls their name. Mother talks. Walk round together—hope’s way out. Kids fight. But no-one’s giving them guns tonight. Set them free. Let them live. Kids fight. Why must the dreams all die again?

His mother hardly saw him these days, shut up on his computer flying planes, playing war games. After the wedding his wife hardly saw him either for weeks on end, shut up on the army’s computer, flying planes; war-games for real. Far far away, real bombs fall from the sky.

“I passed the exam Dad. They’ll let me go to school.” “You need a job. We need the cash.” “I passed the exam. I can train for more.” “You’ll stay where you are. This job’s enough for me and thee and all.”   “I passed the exam. I’m going to war.”

They think we know nothing, they with their books and their rules. They think we aren’t even able to learn, they with their college and schools. They think we’re too weak or too precious. Can’t they see? We learned more than them; we know enough to heal instead of destroy.

Trackless forest, wild and free, gave way to paths where nature’s creatures tread. Small winding track opened to wider way where armies march. The twisted road was tarmacked black where serpent laid his track on nature’s back. There wide-wheeled monsters wafted fire till forest burned and wild and free returned.