30 Day Picture Prompt Challenge

Seriously?

You wonder why someone called
protective services? You, pointedly,
wonder who.

You gave your four year old an ice cream cone
piled high with twelve scoops, took pictures of his glee
never thinking
about the tears when it inevitably
hit the ground or how sick he'd have been
if he ate even half of it.

You let your two year old play with a
big kid quad runner. Unsupervised.
He drives it on the road, across neighbor's yards.
He drives it across my property.
You, meanwhile, have no problem with this.
You asked me: How can I expect a two year old to understand
property lines, or road issues or dangers?
If he can't understand these things,
why do you let him ride it?

You are inside the house, air conditioner running
on those ninety-plus degree days while your kids
are outside. You, the adult, don't put your car keys
out of reach or lock your cars.
You stand outside the car
pleading or yelling or cajoling him with treats
to get him to unlock the car door.
Do you comprehend
how hot it is inside a car sitting
in ninety degree sun?
Apparently not as it has happened numerous times.

You didn't see the four year old lock
the two year old in the trunk.
When you came outside, you didn't know where he was.
You yelled because we were looking for the trunk release.

Your two year old takes off on the quad runner
driving down the road four houses away.
You are nowhere to be seen.
Your nine year old screams for you to come get his brother.
Then, you leave the baby screaming in the house
to stroll down the street
(carefully carrying your drink
so you shouldn't spill it)
to corral your child. You raise your voice
to your eldest
for 'not handling' his brother.

You let your two year old go to the mailbox
and play with the mail;
ripping it to shreds or letting the wind
scatter it across three yards or filling
the mailbox with leaves and the toad he found.
A mailbox is not a toy.


Same kid carries neighbor's cats by tail or neck,
throws them off tables and you get mad at the cat
when your kid gets scratched.

You leave the nine-year-old to do you what
you seem unable to do--
to take care of the two and four year olds while you
and your boyfriend take a twenty minute meander
down the walking trail.
He didn't know what to do with the skinned knee,
what to do when the other one fell out of the tree.

We won't always be here with a gizmo to unlock
a car door, with ice and bandages.
Others won't be kind when your kids
leave your yard and break things
on their property. None of us want
your kids hurt on our property
when they come and we aren't even home.
We've all expressed concerns.
You rebuffed them.

We chose to do the kindest thing of all
when it appeared you
wouldn't listen,
didn't care,
or didn't think
any of the above were issues.

As a neighborhood,
we didn't want your kids to
be seriously hurt or end up dead
due to your neglect.
We had to wonder, given
what we've seen outside your home:
What happens inside?


Everyone called.
No blame here,
or across the street
or down the block.
A shame, really
that our neighborhood cares
more about your children
than you seem to do.



586 words