Poem by Max Ochs

WISE CHILD
 
Most of us, I think, aren’t doing our best.
We don’t share goods, we do not trust.
Except one eight year-old American girl
whose parents came from Palestine,
wrote a poem in school with this refrain: 
“Let the parents of your friend like your parents,
and your parents like the parents of your friend.”
May that verse be our mantra, breathed,
printed for all to see in her charter school’s
annual book of second-grade pupil’s poems.
Pencil in her fingers, clarity of her truth
in class, of San Francisco’s angelic youth!
Who cares she does or doesn’t rhyme?
Her words do mean to set the world aright:
“Let parents of our friend like our parents, and
 let our parents like the parents of our friend.”
May other pencils write as well to the heart of it.
Listen to her; learn as in school, as from a great soul,
like mahatma Gandhi, who said For hungry people,
the only form in which God dare appear, is food.
Learn from her as from the Reverend Martin King, Jr.
who knew that anger is a species of fear, just an energy
to fuel his army of ahimsa.  Many of us are still angry.
Much work waits to be done, as we swim separately
in schools. Do you ken what I am keening about
(Such selfishly gated greed, so heedless of injustice)?
Our unfair land languishes for this girl’s banquet.
Let earth be shared, hate cleaned from the slate.
Every body of us hungry, might fight with fierce frown,
Old alma mater keeps Fear’s flag a-flying. I’m just asking,
some troubled citizens were wondering: Could we harbor
that vision in our own warm bosoms? May we too, say: 
“Let parents of our friend like our parents, and
 let our parents like the parents of our friend.” 

Max Ochs (Anne Arundel County, MD) has spent over 60 years trying to write one decent poem. He has not yet succeeded, but along the way he has met met some amazing poets. 

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