Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

The Unplanned Child


Broken down meatal cribs with wooden bars.
About the first,
it was as much to her as I to it,
the cloth thread bare.

It was so much and different from today,
always dark and no sunrise.
Biblical, baby names,
like James, Richard and Robert.

A sister Sharon like an olds.
That never seemed to run.
Was always hot.
To much salk and lot enough
we turn away from doing that.

It is diffrent now planned parent hood.
She wore a mask.
To even touch her face it ment another child.
Being pregnant when a man has had enough.
I go fishing
and those worms they take me back.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, September 25, 2013

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  • Ace Of Black Hearts (4/24/2013 11:41:00 AM)

    How many are actually planned?
    This is a question I have ask my self many times.
    Being man, means decision of providing for must be made.
    At least in ones head, before the actions of conception.
    Love bares many faces, but one who does not love shouldn't take it any further.
    A hesitant drunks lust easily becomes a rite to passage of a new born.
    Mistakes happen and sometimes we have to live them.
    We must do for the child, no matter the feeling towards one another.
    There no planning for parent hood, there is only learning to be a parent. (Report) Reply

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