Not a Care in the World
I worry a lot.
In school we watched a programme
about the Great Plague,
and for the next few nights all I could see
were bodies, contorted and diseased
at the foot of my bed.
We talked about the Second World War,
and I worried about what I would do
if there was a war now – whether I’d be dead
and whether or not my family would survive.
I asked my mum if she was ever alive
during a war, and she said yes, of course –
there are wars going on
across the world all the time.
But what about in England? I asked.
She said she remembered the Falklands War,
which wasn’t in England but did
involve our army.
I worry a lot.
I worry about being poor
and about famine.
On television I saw an advert asking people
to donate money to another country
where there wasn’t enough to eat.
The people in the advert were covered in sheets.
They looked like barren winter trees.
I wondered whether my mum would be able to love me
if I looked like that, and whether
I’d be able to love her
if she did.
I’ve started hoarding cans of food under my bed
in case there’s a famine in London.
I worry a lot.
And it isn’t just big things I worry about either;
I also worry about lots and lots and lots and lots
of little things.
We had some maths homework
I didn’t understand, which I worried about
until I cried over the breakfast table.
And last week I tried to write a book review
on a book I haven’t even read.
I’m worried that my teacher will find out
and make me read the whole thing,
maybe even twice.
And whenever we have to get into pairs
to go on a school trip
I worry myself sick
about who I’m going to stand next to.
Sam likes girls now
so he always wants to hold a girl’s hand.
James and Alex usually stand together.
So now we’re on a trip and my heart
is a hammer in my chest. We’re standing
in the line, two abreast –
I’ve been worrying about this for weeks.
The birds of anxiety peck at me with their beaks
as two old ladies pass us on the street,
eyeing us as though
they want to pinch our cheeks.
Then one turns to the other and says
“It must be great being a kid, mustn’t it?
Not a care in the world.”
(published in I Don't Like Poetry)