Mable Poem by chris dawson

Jayne Fontaine was not to blame
It was surely Auntie Mable
That let the baby crack its head
Under the kitchen table
And as the screams filled up the house
And spilled on to the street
Jayne ran around to garden to
Be sure the first to meet
The neighbours and the gathering throng
So perplexed and concerned
And horrified and angry at
What each in turn then learned.

Oh how could she, that stupid cow,
Have hit the child so
Vengeance was their foremost thought
Well how was Jayne to know?
The crowd became a mob at once
And pushed the girl aside
Attracted by the wailing then
They forced themselves inside
The kitchen where poor Mable sat
Regretful and forlorn
She rocked the crying infant as
The horde poured out their scorn.

The child was snatched immediately
Passed down the along the line
Mable just didn’t have the words
As the gang became malign
They scragged her by her knitted top
And someone grabbed her hair
They dragged her out into the yard
And set about her there
For she was known, and known to all
As strange and slow of thought
And this was just the excuse that
One or two had sought
To exercise their prejudice
To vent their lack of soul
Punishing abnormality
Was their unstated goal.

But all who joined the baying pack
Cared nothing of the table
As Jayne now tried to fight them back
To protect her Aunty Mabel
Too late, the sniff of spite was in
Those nostrils flared and wide
Jayne’s pleas would be to no effect
Till the excitement would subside
Then one by they ceased their blows
Retired, as each observed
That curled and twisted body had
Received what it deserved.

Silence within the walled surround
Just heavy, laboured breath
Had they metered punishment?
Had they cause a death?
Slowly the silence broke their thoughts
Reason on all’s behalf
Reality then struck them dumb
They heard the baby laugh
Holding on the table leg
Tears they streamed no more
It tottered to the tempting crowd
And fell against the door.

A wail the like they’d never heard
Came charging from that room
The message hit them like a train
Were they wrong to assume?
A look back to where poor Mable lay
Last one to shut the gate
Dismissed how they were suckered in
And how they took the bait
As back to each respective life
To forget, discount, ignore
To blame the Fontaines for their ills
And continue as before.