by Nick Gisburne
You’re looking at a world I’ve never seen,
At failings that offend your tiny eyes.
I’d hate to wander where your mind has been,
To see the dirt, the darkness you despise.
Your twisted, tangled prejudice is rare,
Of that I can be infinitely glad.
Perhaps you think that little girls don’t care?
But listen to an expert. Me. Her dad.
You see the imperfections in her face,
And find a freak, an animal, a threat.
However wide her smile, inside your space
She’ll never meet the minimum you set.
Go back to where you’re happy. There’s the door.
She’s not a pig. She’s beautiful. She’s four.
