Poem #1: Our Child

20 June 2023

By Chloë Carter, Year 13, South Yorkshire

Prompt: Conduct an informal oral history interview with an older relative about their experience of community/whether they feel there is less of a sense of community now compared to when they were growing up. 

Often I sit and observe the world,

through my window usually.

It’s never safe to go outside.

Most things are sharp, and strange, and scary.

They call it a Mother’s intuition,

Or even a natural superstition,

That the outside world is never as safe as the world you yourself have made.

I see you wanting to play outside.

Mummy! All my friends are on the street.

But I know deep down,

that there’ll be strangers you can meet.

It wasn’t so bad when I was young.

The monsters weren’t proud and the children not as loud.

Everything was clear, bright, happy and fun

and our doors remained unlocked, and neighbours always found

a welcoming home in mine.

Sadly, things are different now. They have changed.

Ice cream vans have smaller queues,

while schools are over-run.

Over-run with the violent, the loud, the happy and the proud.

Today its children against children. When before we were on the same side.

So even though your begging words have stung,

I still can’t let you out my sight.

Your tiny life hasn’t yet begun,

and thoughts of losing you give me nerves of strong might.

Be that as it may,

I do see how simple you see this to be,

But nobody gets it more than daddy and me.