Hello child,
You just opened your eyes.
The light must be so bright in your mind.
I can picture a day,
When you’ll grow old and die.
Those lights will dim in front of old grey eyes.
Good morning child,
It’s a brand new day.
I don’t know if you can go out and play.
Your air might be pristine,
Or rather unclean.
It’s somewhat hard to say.
Happy birthday child,
I don’t know if you’ll be celebrated.
You might be poor.
You could be rich,
But the chances of that are slim.
I can’t say whether your toy will be a bike,
Or a tin can drum fished from the bottom of a drainpipe.
It’s your first day of school child,
But I don’t know if you can go.
We might have to check your gametes to know.
I wish you could read this,
But you probably can’t.
You’re either too poor or too young to make words dance.
Happy graduation child,
But this point could be moot.
For all I know by now you’re a sex slave
And drug trafficker to boot.
You still might not read.
And math could be tough.
But it’s hardly your fault if you never ate enough.
Congratulations child,
You’re married.
But the next stanza might come first.
It’s sad to say that no human might love you.
But you would not be the first.
Watch your child open its eyes child,
And remember the day you did.
Give them a couple of years,
And they’ll be a king or a mere beggar on dark, lonely streets.
You’ve been promoted child,
If you even have a job.
Your kid could be dead if a hurricane’s your lot.
Your spouse might have left you,
But drugs will have kept you.
You’re dying child,
But I don’t know how old you are.
A couple lines of this poem could be null,
If you were stuck on Maslow’s first rung.
Goodbye child,
I don’t know what your life’s been like.
You might have had fun.
But your song’s been sung.
Hello reader,
You might be lucky.
Old enough to understand and rich enough to have a chance.
But think for a moment,
On this poor child’s death warrant.
For it was written the day of its birth.
A race starts with a gun,
An apt metaphor.
We each take up our starting blocks.
But when some of us are ten yards behind,
How can you expect them to shine.