Bart Simpson and the little girl

Her feet didn’t touch the ground

Hard when in the air

Dummy was her parents’ new best friend

Brought silence, to be shared

 

Bart Simpson kept her company

Twisties fell to floor

She smiled as she turned her head

Inquisition knocked on door

 

Movement, ever, oh so fast

Tablet entertaining

Attentive of the screen, her own

Made most of time remaining

 

Silently she cried aloud

As if she was on the screen

The tattooed arm of adulthood

Words needless, hardly seen

 

Thongs on table

Relaxed in time

Soon to land again

 

Centrifugal focus

Goes unnoticed

Who was she? Where?

And when?

 

Postscript: This poem was written whilst in a plane on a domestic flight from Sydney to Brisbane. The little girl across the way from me was, as you can glean from the text of the poem, busied by treats, her dummy…and Bart Simpson.

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