Young Vlad

Off the plane they stepped,

Onto the grey runway,

To the child and his mother

It was just another day.

To know she would have wept

And to the Lord she would pray

Lucky he had a brother

When he went away.

They entered the airport building,

Into the baggage hall,

When mother’s phone began to ring

With an incoming call.

“Hello?” she said with a tired voice,

(the flight had been long haul),

The child had a choice:

To stay with mother, or to crawl...

“Please stay away from the carousel!”

Boomed a loud voice from above.

the child looked up and knew well

the danger of the conveyor belt thereof,

the mother sighed and turned her back,

“what’s the matter, my love?”

The child moved towards the baggage track,

Unbeknown he would be gotten rid of.

Closer and closer to the carousel, 

He climbed onto one of the bags,

And soon in the underneath he did dwell.

What with tiredness and time lags,

His mother was yet to see,

What was to become of young Vlad,

But we know it could be

Somewhat  of a holiday snag.

“Help, mummy, help!” young Vlad cried.

“What is it?” she turned, her hands on her waist.

“It hurts, mummy, it hurts!” he replied,

Calling from seemingly inside a case.

“Oh Vlad, what are you doing in there?”

She said, walking over to the place

Where his voice came from with despair,

Expecting to see his angelic face.

She reached for the luggage

And undid the zip,

Waiting to gage

His pain by a quivering lip,

Only to find

Blood drip by drip

And a pile of organs left behind.

Gone was her son, gone was the quivering lip.

l.s.