LULLABOY

Lull a trembling nation's fears,
buy a smile with bitter tears.

Tomorrow's monsters tied in ribbons
crawl and gurgle in the pen;
they're tailless as Malayan gibbons,
hairless as a new-plucked hen.
We hope that when we're old they'll rescue
us from hospice or from home;
but they are each a wee Ceausescu
or Caligula of Rome.

These infant tyrants blowing bubbles
practise raining deadly blows;
their tiny fists will cause bone troubles,
fracturing both chin and nose.
The angels of the mobile dangle
over stretching dimpled palms;
if these were strong enough they'd strangle
headstrong parents without qualms.

Let's open life's great highway quickly,
sending baby on his way
and, be he rosy-cheeked or sickly,
cut the ribbon yesterday.
But if this ribbon's the carotid
baby's lifeblood will be spilled;
however, don't declare besotted
that an innocent's been killed.

Lullaby, the baby's dead:
not a single tear we'll shed.