The Organic Child
I was on board a crowded plane, when Something kicked my knee.
A Child, grinning at my pain, was sitting next to me.
The mother leaned across and smiled as I massaged my bruise.
She told me all about the Child, and her organic views.
"No chemicals," she proudly said, "no sugar has defiled—
The pure organic diet fed to my Organic Child."
The very clothes It had to wear, were sourced sustainably;
The shampoo used to wash Its hair, of parabens was free.
She jealously protected It from any processed food,
And raved about the benefit to skin, hair, eyes, and mood.
In short, It was a specimen of what good health should be:
Brought up on natural medicine, and tofu, and green tea.
The jellybeans I'd brought along I quickly hid away.
They now seemed like a moral wrong, to my immense dismay.
The Child wiggled, whined and fussed until we got our meal.
Its mother watched me with disgust as I chowed down the veal.
The Child glared with bloodshot eyes while I enjoyed my feast,
Of processed food and fatty fries, preserved and oiled and greased.
The hostess brought two special trays, the Child began to hush;
The picky pair began to graze upon their vegan mush.
Apparently the special food brought only short-lived calm.
The mother soon became unglued and grabbed the hostess' arm.
"My Child and I can't eat this stuff, it tastes all wrong to me.
My wholemeal roll is really tough, it can't be gluten-free!"
The mother questioned and complained, the Child loudly wailed.
The hostess' voice was tight and strained; she tried to help, but failed.
"A gluten-free, organic bun is all we want to eat!"
"But Madam, I can't get you one at forty thousand feet."
At last, the mother faintly said, "Just take the meals away."
The Child, parted from Its bread, began to kick and flay.
It screamed and bellowed, roared and cried, but when she saw It weep,
The mother rolled upon her side and drifted off to sleep.
"Be quiet now," she softly moaned, "just settle down now, please.
As soon as we get safely home you'll have organic peas."
For comfort from this living hell I sought my only means;
The Child quickly ceased to yell as I retrieved my beans.
The packet crackled; I withdrew a ripe, red, juicy bean—
I stuffed it in, began to chew, but felt a little mean.
The Child watched with sad despair which rendered It quite mute.
Compassion made me want to share of my forbidden fruit.
The Child's eyes grew oh-so-wide as It enjoyed the treat.
I saw Its pleasure, magnified, in tasting something sweet.
The Child and I became good friends upon that red-eye flight.
We shared the sweets and made amends for any former spite.
When landing, and the mother woke from her organic dreams,
The Child grinned about our joke, and then resumed Its screams.
The mother heaped the Child with praise for being good this trip.
We parted friends, and parted ways, upon the landing strip.
And as I went out on the street I pondered many things:
What good is life with nothing sweet, to fight the bad it brings?
No matter what, one thing was sure, those jellybeans beguiled—
And changed the life, so raw and pure—of the Organic Child.
