I saw a child die on the BBC,
Squeezed between two jokes and a red nose,
Her little body trembling,
Being punched back to life -uselessly.
But it’s alright, you see.
It was for charity. She’s done her job.
She’s given us a great message,
Like the presenter said,
About how 10 pounds can change
Africa’s fate, and although
No British kid would ever be filmed
Like she was, her lifeless body served
For a sober commentary
In the three-hour comedy show.
It is fine. She was little and dark and scared.
No warning was given of her incoming passing,
Captured for the cameras weeks before.
We do not know how deeply her mother cried for her
Or if her sister got the food pouch that she did not get,
Because her death was untimely, poorly scheduled
-She did not wait for the BBC’s red nose day
And those 10 pounds flocking,
And those sketches of a karaoke in a car.
So, she died.
And it was alright to show her death
On national TV, the tired, desperate eyes
Of the doctor who tried to save her,
Her little body strewn over a bed like
A forgotten rag doll.
Because it was for charity.
And that excuses it all.