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Book 26 Page 41
Pow pow your dead
little boy holding
a plastic gun to my head.
Shall I play dead?
Shall I play the fool?
Shall I fall down dramatically
and follow the games rules.
“O-OO!” I say, “you got me!
And I think to myself, “O my god!
what nonsense am I putting into this child’s head!?”
And then he leaves me
no doubt to find another guess or victim willing to be shot.
“Pow! Pow!” he says again “your dead.”
“Some things astray” I think, but I can’t think to what.
Something’s not quite right!
Pow! Pow! is it all just good clean fun?
Little boy playing killer at a party
with his little plastic gun.
And I wonder to myself;
what’s really going on inside this little child’s head
when he points the plastic gun pulling the trigger and proclaiming,
“Pow Pow Mister your dead?”
Has this little boy already been violently lead?
And if so who is to blame?
Little boy simply playing
the little soldier game.
© Written by Dominic John Gill www.poetry.net.au email@example.com Created on 8/30/00