Cafe Culture

A man holds his baby like a Trophy Child.
Is this some kind of courting display
To drive the women wild,
Impressing the ladies
Whose Ifs, Buts and Maybes
Multiply visibly
When face to face
With the New Masculinity,
This affectation enhancing his station
Explicitly courting approbation,
In spite of a tacit indolence
The child both senses and resents?
The lad, in his turn, is devoid of expression,
Not a particularly joyful impression:
Cleaving in fear-fuelled curiosity,
Victim of dad’s inherent pomposity.
Is this what infancy is for?
A dandling hour full set bore
While one who ‘cares’
Has a mind elsewhere
Overlooking the urgent stare,
The knotted brow
Of a wriggling lad
Who knows not how
To engage his dad…
I am of the observer’s opinion
This is not the place for a little one.
Forgive my outright prejudice,
My strength of indignation on this,
But even I know that babies need more
Than adults around them to just gawp and adore…
Or is this focus of my invective
Simply contra the Child Laissez-Faire perspective?

 

 

 

 

 

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