lost time by Jake Ormrod

some baby in the back end of the pub is staring at my hair and while i wouldn’t usually care i’m more than a little worse for wear today and it’s really getting to me.

her small eyes glitter with innocence but the sticky fingers that make up her curled fist are rubbing indistinct muck into the precious orbs left to be absorbed by the optic nerve that will hopefully serve her well till old age show her the cruelty she’ll fight a battle against the right in the name of decency.

this isn’t usual for me.

i’m usually ambivalent towards kids but as i said i’m feeling fragile so my mind is reeling at the possibility inside that bulbous head. i hope she’s not easily lead that she spends her life looking after the needy not pulled in by the selfish and the greedy into a life that’s importance is based on a larger wage a grand stage to show off her material accomplishments.

instead she will love in obscurity in the slums of the city no pity for the ones who need her always offering never demanding just standing at the precipice and screaming into the void at the annoyed who would have silence over education who would have people know their place

all this, conjured up, by that baby’s staring face.

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