A Prayer for Children
by Ina J. Hughes

We pray for children who put chocolate fingers everywhere,
who like to be tickled,
who stomp in puddles and ruin their new pants,
who sneak Popsicles before supper
who erase holes in their math workbooks,
who can never find their shoes.

And we pray for those who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire,
who can’t bound down the street in a new pair of sneakers,
who never go to the circus,
who never “counted potatoes,”
who are born in places we wouldn’t be caught dead near,
who live in an X-rated world.

We pray for children who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,
who sleep with the dog and bury the goldfish,
who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money,
who cover themselves with Band-Aids and sing off-key,
who squeeze toothpaste all over the sink,
who slurp their soup.

And we pray for those who never get dessert,
who have no safe blanket to drag behind them,
who watch their parents watch them die,
who can’t find any bread to steal,
who don’t have any rooms to clean,
whose pictures are not on anybody’s dresser,
whose monsters are real.

We pray for children who spend their allowances before Tuesday,
who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
who like ghost stories,
who shove dirty clothes under the bed and never rinse the tub,
who get visits from the tooth fairy,
who don’t like to be kissed in front of the carpool,
who squirm in church or temple
and scream in the phone,
whose tears we sometimes laugh at,
and whose smiles can make us cry.

And we pray for those whose nightmares come in the daytime,
who will eat anything,
who aren’t spoiled by anybody,
who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,
who live and move, but have no being.

We pray for children who want to be carried
and for those who must.
For those we never give up on, and
for those who don’t get a second chance.
For those we smother,
and for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind enough to offer it. . . .

Mamacita, Scheiss Weekly