A soft meowl,

A gentle plea,

Comes from the little baby,

Please, will somebody help me,

Thinks he.

Mother sighs as the baby cries,

Giving him a mouth full of lies

In a soothing voice that smoothers guilt with lullabies,

“It’s alright, little James.”

“Later, we’ll play you favorite games.”

He coos,

now she knows just what she needs to do.

She drops him off,

At a stranger’s house

With a blanket oh-so-soft.

No money to her name,

She seems to have nothing to gain

Either this, or a slow starvation.

She just prays he is found.

“James.”  She whimpers on the ground.

No food for three weeks has made her unbearably weak.

“Please forgive me, I love you.”

And, somewhere, out there, James whispers his first words,

“I love you too.”

And somewhere else,

A fat man lays upon his couch.

He stares at a screen

In a mansion fit for a queen,

As James’ mother is gone,

He worries about getting someone to cut his endless lawn,

and-

With a little yawn-

He declares,

“This is the American Dream.”