I am not the first (nor likely to be the last) to have issue with the way things are. So I was taught everyone, without exception, has an opinion and that it was a rare occasion when one opinion was truly more valuable than another. That said, I feel compelled to speak out about something I have noticed in my favorite little town of Belle, where I live and which I call my home.

There are young people, children really, around and between the ages of four and fourteen that have the run of the place. They ride their bikes, walk all over, play in the side-streets and the side-walks and the parking lots and sometimes even in the middle of Highway 89 (which is called Alvarado in our neck of the woods). They have free reign and go wherever they will, without any kind of observable supervision. I refer to them (affectionately) as “the feral’s.”

Far be it from me to suggest how parents and guardian’s ought to raise their children. I like to believe that the Belle community is collectively responsible for the health and well-being of it’s youngsters. Unfortunately, anyone who reads the newspapers knows that’s not good enough. This year alone offers more heart-breaking “statistics” than anyone of us should stomach. But the word on the street is “that sort of thing happens out here.” As if “out here” were the Wild West or war-torn Afghanistan. I’m not sure what the solution is but I’m dead certain more of the same just isn’t going to cut it.

Personally, I take a great deal of pride in working with our young folks. In my work with the library system, they often converge on their bicycles, scooters, and bare feet to take advantage of a safe, creative, and constructive environment in which to idle their time. But the library isn’t open but 22 hours a week, and less than half of those hours are available after school gets out. A few organizations and church groups, like Friends of the Belle Library and Knights of Columbus, offer some programs for kids to participate in after-school hours but it’s a far cry from what’s needed to keep them occupied and off the streets.

To close, I’d like to share a poem in memory of a young person I never even knew:

Clouds keep floating

Out a window

In a sky

Blue from heavy atmosphere

The exhaust of a yellow hummer

And the smoking barrel of a gun

What must your final moments have been like

Little man – Little person –

Little angel – Little boy?

I hope I never know –

I didn’t even know your name

I only knew my last memory of you –

Playing LEGOs at the library

I hope you built a rocket ship, a tower, a time-machine –

To heaven, Eden, or home

That you had some kind of

warning,

Some child-like foresight

Before you left this earthly realm

And went on to the next

In a sky

Out a window

Where clouds keep floating by.

Matthew Haines is a language artist at the Osage Arts Community and delivers papers courtesy of Warden Publishing.

Send questions and comments to mr.matthew.a.haines@gmail.com