Innocent, you looked up
At the world that walks and talks,
And you tried to sit up
To absorb the wonder of it all
Yet you yourself were restrained
By harsh black Velcro that had you framed
Like a crayon picture for motherly inspection.
Restrained, thus detached,
From your mother and the world:
One only needs logic
To systematise the effect of this cause.
It was a shame when you looked up
And saw your gentle mother
Looking not at you, but the same
Talking-walking world that you were watching
So you winced, and cried, not just for yourself
But for the family unit as it manifests
In today’s absent world.
In short, we are out of touch; asynchronous
With not only the present, but our identities:
The days when mother held child
Like monkey held infant are receding
Like rainforests in the new age.
The most formative of days,
So every position, every situation
And every sigh of early morning air
Can alter the course of your toy-box ship.