Accountability

He stands there doing shopping, his mother strokes his hair
“Not that one James, it’s got a dent, take that one over there! ”
“Now did you clean your room today, and change your underwear?”
“If I don’t chase you all the time, you’d lose your head, I swear! ”

But James is now just forty two, his hair is going grey
He’s never had a chance to live, he’s never had a say
And yet he has the right to vote, make choices on his own
He won’t, he can’t, he’s lost you see, without a mother’s moan.

In Africa I know a child; he’s ten if he’s a day
He’s witnessed death and famine; he’s never learned to play
His parents dead from plague of AIDS, so he’s the eldest now
Of seven little sisters, and too small to push the plough.

So what now is an adult? It’s not one’s age that’s plain!
Is it our experience, or how we cope with pain?
Or when we learn to understand another’s argument
Instead of throwing tantrums, with attitudes all bent.

We send our men to go and fight for ‘freedom’ and a cause
To force our ways on other men, to adhere to our laws
This lack of co-existence may define our toleration
The rules of childish games perchance just lack this integration.

A child that kills another child, should he now go to trial?
What defines his adulthood? To face the last green mile.
Or should an old man, with an age, of seven in his mind
Be forced to live the rules we make when he’s so far behind.

All of us perhaps revert, when challenged by life’s forces
Back to childhood attitudes, to follow ancient courses
Of inherited behaviour, perhaps that is the test:
Improve how it was done before, and do our level best.

Chris Higginson
1st Provocative Verse