Death of an Innocent

“BarbaraO” over on Yahoo! said: “I have a poem I have had for years … In so many instances it’s the innocent one who pays with death…”

Death of an Innocent

I went to a party, Mom,
I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink, Mom,
So I drank soda instead.

I really felt proud inside, Mom,
The way you said I would.
I didn’t drink and drive, Mom,
Even though the others said I should.

I know I did the right thing, Mom,
I know you are always right.
Now the party is finally ending, Mom,
As everyone is driving out of sight.

As I got into my car, Mom,
I knew I’d get home in one piece.
Because of the way you raised me,
So responsible and sweet.

I started to drive away, Mom,
But as I pulled out into the road,
The other car didn’t see me, Mom,
And hit me like a load.

As I lay there on the pavement, Mom,
I hear the policeman say,
“The other guy is drunk,” Mom,
And now I’m the one who will pay.

I’m lying here dying, Mom…
I wish you’d get here soon.
How could this happen to me, Mom?
My life just burst like a balloon.

There is blood all around me, Mom,
And most of it is mine.
I hear the medic say, Mom,
I’ll die in a short time.

I just wanted to tell you, Mom,
I swear I didn’t drink.
It was the others, Mom.
The others didn’t think.

He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is, he drank
And I will die.

Why do people drink, Mom?
It can ruin your whole life.
I’m feeling sharp pains now.
Pains just like a knife.

The guy who hit me is walking, Mom,
And I don’t think it’s fair.
I’m lying here dying
And all he can do is stare.

Tell my brother not to cry, Mom.
Tell Daddy to be brave.
And when I go to heaven, Mom,
Put “Daddy’s Girl” on my grave.

Someone should have told him, Mom,
Not to drink and drive.
If only they had told him, Mom,
I would still be alive.

My breath is getting shorter, Mom.
I’m becoming very scared.
Please don’t cry for me, Mom.
When I needed you,
you were always there.

I have one last question, Mom.
Before I say good bye.
I didn’t drink and drive,
So why am I the one to die.


NB: To be clear, the poem above was written by “BarbaraO”. It was in a comment on the following story at Yahoo! “–abc-news-lifestyle.html?bcmt=comments-postbox


So I went to a colleague’s wife’s surprise birthday party today. It was really nice. I had several plates of “asun” – but that’s not why I am writing this.

The host had hinted that he had something special for me. A friend at the same party said that he hopes the host knew the two things I needed – alcohol and a lady friend. I just laughed.

Some time after we had settled down, someone mentioned that some lady that was at the party was the person the host had in mind. I took one look and shook my head.

Later on during the friendly chit-chat the issue came up again. I said I wasn’t interested. The host commented that “This is getting embarrassing” (with reference to my single status at my age). A friend whipped out his phone and displayed the picture of some lady I supposedly had met – she was really easy on the eyes. I begged to differ and said I don’t think I had actually met the lady – he insisted otherwise. I whipped out my phone and showed them several pictures of a lady – pilfered from her Whatsapp profile over time.

That was of course a mistake. Another friend at the gathering who knew about the lady then asked: “So what did she say?”

I had no option but to say: “She said no.”

To which he directed his reply to the other guys at the gathering: “I don’t know why he puts his eggs in one basket.”

Unfortunately, there is only so much room in my heart. The space is only big enough for one occupant at a time. And before the lady in the picture, there was only one other person … it now feels so long ago. And before that actually very long ago there was a third person.

I don’t know how they (the other guys) do it. All of them were married and yet most of them are able to find time and emotion for other women … admittedly just “physical” but still …. I can’t do it …. maybe it’s because I am … shy … maybe I would do the same if otherwise … but I like to think I am “different”.

I really shouldn’t be writing and putting this up in the “google-verse” (Internet)  – “she” may come across it – and I suspect it will do more harm than good, but I guess my ego needs stroking: if nothing else, I can claim to be able to “write.”