Another Sad Statistic

A child cries in a darkened room
At the center of an empty trailer,
A jar of peanut butter,
A half-eaten package of stale saltines,
Pooh-bear with his missing eye,
And a blanket full of holes
All left to keep him happy.
How ironic that he cries
When Momma had his
Best interests at heart�after all,
She left the oily peanut butter
And that ratty bear he couldn't seem to let go.
She took the TV, she took the couch,
She even took the toilet paper.
She took the things that mattered least,
And forgot what mattered most.
Or did she really forget?
His screams for comfort became her undoing.
She did apologize,
A muttered "I'm sorry, baby,
But I can't do this anymore."
Her angel sits on the floor,
His throat raw from crying,
The crackers untouched,
The peanut butter rotting.
No one hears a thing.
She lies in her lover's arms
Half a world away.
No guilt, no sadness,
Just an overwhelming sense of freedom
As they lose themselves to desire.
Another angel in the making�
Another sad statistic.

Michelle Elizabeth Bernard

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