A Bad Day: A Poem

 The kid is scared of a balloon,
         runs bawling while his sister
         bandies it unkindly, keeping after him.
         The bang inside it lurks.  It likely
chuckles
         if you only knew a way to let it get out
         bit by bit.

         He doesn't care about a thing like beauty
         though you couldn't call it beauty.
         Not exactly.
         If it wasn't quite so full of that expletive
         which, on uttering it is left so little limp
         and total death, it could be pretty.

         He isn't sure he hates it more
         inflated and explosive like a big bird
         nudging at his nerves,
         or its disgusting aftermath, slack, slick
and tattered.
         So he screams to see it swell and then he
sobs
         at its collapse, a waste of breath.

         This is the boy the rhea bit from in its
grill.
         It bruised his soul.
         The gorgeous stalk of stuffy mop and snake
of neck;
         the glare swung with the hooded hook.
         How could such glorious presence break with
ceremonial ?
         They traded glowers, and swapped, perhaps,
offences,
         and the kid escaped with tears.
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