Occasionally I like to go back and revisit some of the items I have written or published as a reminder that yes, I really did write that.
This particular one was a poem I wrote several years ago, and it was published with Piker Press. It’s about the “unseen” people that tend to get forgotten.
Once, there was a girl who lived in my neighborhood
She was a pale and skinny girl, not much to look at
Her mother died when she was an infant, and her father fell in love with booze
She would go to high school in clothes that were well worn at best
She had no friends, and was taunted and abused by the relentless bullies
But — no one stood up for her, no, not even a teacher
No one would lend a listening ear, or a helping hand
No, not one; not even I
What was even sadder was when she died, killed by her own flesh and blood in a drunken rage, not a single soul appeared at her burial
No one was there to remember her
I am left to wonder if she had been given even the slightest of chances, would this have saved her?
I’m not sure, but I do know that I had an opportunity to make a difference once… and failed.
Article © Carrie A. Golden. All rights reserved.
Published on 2008-09-15