The Poet As Mere Spectator

and so there was this child
left by the mother who was washing
her body in another
room

the child crawls and walks its
way finally
to the dining table
and pulls the table cloth
where a cup of hot coffee
is put

hot coffee is poured on its face
and the baby screams
and screams and screams
at the top of his voice

i hear it but what can i do
i am the poet
and you give me this job of
a mere spectator

next time, tell me, i am more than that
i can be superman
to that child
only if you ask.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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