Treasure Island

Martin O'Neill

(20-06-1958 / Solihull, Birmingham, England)

Babysitter


Shooting and bombing
And slashing and kicking
And burning and beating
And stomping and killing
And maiming and hurting
And knifing and punching
And dancing
Arms raised
Over the fallen
Broken bodies
Of his foes
On the other side of the Windows
Where Mummy doesn't go.
She's drinking a glass of Sauvignon Blanc downstairs
While her well behaved boy
Plays in his room, alone.
The babysitter isn't programmed
To care
As a childhood withers
On the untended vine
Of conversation
And connection.
He's caught the 4.0 Armageddon
Universal Serial Bus
To a place where
Darker fruit grows.
Try not to weep
As you reap
What you sow.

Submitted: Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Edited: Friday, January 23, 2009

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  • John Brown (9/3/2012 9:16:00 AM)

    Intriguing poem Martin, which I liked. I wrote one myself called 'The Babysitter', but it's nothing like this one. Just shows the amount of imagination flying around. (Report) Reply

  • Patti Masterman (3/30/2012 12:07:00 AM)

    Wow, deep stuff going on in here, and it's pretty true I imagine, depending on circumstance. Would make a wonderful song too, I keep thinking..an original idea, or one of which are getting harder to find, day by day. (Report) Reply

  • Elena Sandu (2/7/2012 6:53:00 PM)

    For the first part of this poem I couldn't help it, needed to move my body on its rhythm as for the second, deep thoughts kept me frozen. Amazing write, pure delight, thank you for share. (Report) Reply

  • Emily Core (1/6/2009 12:12:00 AM)

    it is little dark but thats why i like it at frist i thought it was about the war but at the end i understood it (Report) Reply

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