That There’s Something Wrong

Every child senses it
At some point or other—
Some sooner, some later.

The world’s a haunted place.
There’s something wrong with it.
Every child has to choose

To do something with this.
Accept what mama said,
What priest or doctor said,

Or something overheard
At school, in the playground,
Seen on a glowing screen

In a room left too dark.
The child has to decide
What strategy to pick—

Pretend the world is full
Of fairies or goblins,
Pretend it’s orderly,

Run by a sensible
God, or household of gods,
Dispassionate logic,

Or be the questioner,
An acceptable type,
Although never much liked.

None of the strategies
On offer works so well
That the world feels all right.

The world feels wrong. What works,
A bit, is to admit
You don’t know why you sense