BLACK BUTTERFLY

 POETRY, PROSE AND PAINTINGS

                  The Good Child

                  The good child is not rude,

                  does not eat food with her fingers,

                  uses instead a knife and fork or spoon as

                  civilized people do.

                  The good child does her best,

                  attacks with zest each parental ambition,

                  achieves the required results with grace

                  and does not fail.

                  The good child does not stare

                  at the place where a purple, hairy wart

                  haunts the face of some slightly related

                  adult aunt.

                  The good child does not run,

                  have fun with other children in the street

                  when there is work to be done indoors

                  on her education.

                  The good child knows her place,

                  does not disgrace her self with tantrums

                  when she feels neglected and rejected

                  by those supposed to care.

                  The good child is not afraid

                  of ghost or shade that screams the terrors

                  of the night beset with awful dreams

                  and strange imaginings.

                  The good child seldom cries

                  but lies asleep in the darkened room,

                  a little plaster saint who troubles

                  no one.

                  The good child can not remain,

                  will not refrain from speaking her mind

                  when she has put away her childhood

                  and is grown.

                  Even the good child will turn,

                  will burn with rage that age imparts

                  to all as they grow, begin to know

                  life's injustice.