A Broken China Doll
Today is Monday and it’s for show, Tuesday is my fun day and it’s time that you know.
Wednesday’s my slumber-day and i share it with woe, Friday’s before Thursday and Thursday’s can go.
Saturday follows Friday and that day’s for fun, Sunday’s the day that i’m working a ton.
Now think of Tuesday and give it a whirl, then it’s Wednesday and know i’m “your girl.”
Think of the “next day” and what that shall bring, and that’s the “day” i play on your “swing.”
Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, bakers-man, “bake me a cake” but leave it in the “pan.”
The “bakers” are busy, the “cooks” are all fed, the little boys nestled tight in their bed.
i’m in my cap for a long winters sleep, then i lay my head down and try not to weep.
My body’s tired and my head full of woe, and i wonder if you know the things that i know.
i’m a “mother” – a “sister” – a “daughter” and “son,” i’m a “wife” to a man who’s fast on the run.
Someone out there keeps hold of my hand, so there’s no detour from the master plan.
i pick up a “book” and what do you know, it’s filled with “cupcakes” for my brand new “beau.”
There’s my “mother” – my voice – my maid and good friend, she’s old and wise and there to the end.
There’s Pa in his kerchief and Ma in her cap, and reindeer on rooftops and i lost my warm hat.
It’s been a good day since no one’s been beat, and we’ve all had our say – now that’s a good treat.
Can you figure it out?
Do you know what i am?
I’ll give you a hint.
i’m a tiny battering ram.
Have i made it real clear?
I’m a child prostitute and they sawed off my ear.
i listened too long, so i’m singing this song.
If you worked young like me, you might be singing along.
Daffodils are growing as tall as can be, lilacs are hanging for the whole world to see.
Sometimes i’m sad and sometimes i’m blue, and if you were living my life you would be too.
The windows open and now i must go, and where i might travel i just don’t know.
i grab my one shoe and sneak out of my strife, a child like me has not much of a life.
The streets are all white but that’s how it goes, and i lack of anything to cover my toes.
Now i am free and out in a storm, and the sidewalks here are not very warm.
Then all of the sudden who should appear, it’s Santa Claus and his eight dazzling reindeer!
There’s never been a present wrapped just for me, but right now I would settle for a hot cup of tea.
Mary dear, where have you been, I’ve look all over this city now you hold up your chin.
I heard through the wind life had been bad, and you certainly do look very, very sad.
i quietly think about my own plight, but to speak of it surely would give Santa a fright.
i try as I might to have silence my goal, but maybe he can help this poor little soul.
i point to the tracks that lead back to my job, and hold back the tears as i fight not to sob.
i looked up high and there on his face, Santa revealed he knew of that horrible place.
His rosy red cheeks became mighty dim, and i thought now i should not have ever shown him.
Sweet little Mary – just two years old, hop in my sleigh and get out of this cold.
Stay at my side and send gifts to and fro, and leave behind this life that you know.
i looked up at him and he knew from my grin, the answer was yes and i hopped right on in.
On dancer, on dasher, on prancer and vixen, on commet, cupid donner and blitzen.
i had the best seat there ever could be, where presents were bulging right beneath me.
i searched deep inside the magical bag, but nothing at all had my name on its tag.
i wanted a gift so bad that it hurt, and all of the sudden the sleigh stopped with a jerk.
I’ve changed my mind Mary my dear, a Christmas sleigh is no place for … where is your ear?
With magic that twinkles and to my delight, i got back my ear in that enchanted moonlight.
Then all of the sudden i was under a tree, there i was, wee little me.
i had nothing to offer – nothing at all, but still i am sure Santa made the right call.
What if Christmas is only ideal, if there is something ‘neath the tree to change how you feel.
If presents are feelings and feelings are free, then i have something exceptional to put under this tree.
Peaches cook in the kitchen with cheer, and folks in there don’t even know that i’m here.
i put a red bow tight on my head, and hope that is all that needs to be said.
i sleep not a nod and nod not a sleep, and dream i’m a child folks want to keep.
Christmas morning i was silent until, I heard the squeaky grind of the coffee mill.
i startled awake and checked for my bow, and that’s when i noticed a tag on my toe.
i got to my knees and struck a still pose, but as i moved ’round a commotion arose.
A fancy glass bulb crashed to the ground, and in that moment i was finally found.
i held my position and stayed very still, and I looked like a doll straight from goodwill.
my face was dirty and my dress a tatter, but i hoped with all of my heart that wouldn’t matter.
The bow on my head should have said it all, but the man picked up the phone and started a call.
That’s when i said i’m under your tree, because no one has ever loved tiny me.
The lady picked up her favorite present that year, and said, she’s exactly what I asked for from Santa – my Dear.
In that instant my eyes filled with tears, a stream saved up throughout my long felt two years.
The man looked at me and put the phone down, and his frown slowly turned – upside down.
He opened the note Santa tied to my toe, and it said, she is yours and no one should know.
That’s when i knew i was welcome to stay, and i was hugged and kissed and cuddled all day.
That’s my tale and now its been told, and now i’m no longer a kid that is sold.
~Mary and friends
The first part of the poem describes the work week Mary had. On Monday she was paraded for prospective clients, then Tuesday and Wednesday no new clients were accepted but she still serviced existing clients. Thursday was the day she had to service new clients, and Friday was a mixed day of both new and old clients, followed by Saturday which she got off to heal her body, mind and heart. Sunday was her busiest day, when kids serviced existing clients from morning to night. The “next day” in this paragraph refers to any day that follows learning new cupcakes, which are the sexual “tricks” taught to the children.
The second paragraph refers to the Masters as cakes, and the pans are the business itself. When Master’s, who ran the household would talk, they would say they were baking a cake, which meant they were bringing in the dough. To leave the cake in the pan meant the chunk of money needed to run the business. The cooks were the men who worked for the business, but they worked outside of the house. They consisted of lawyers, judges, attorneys, social workers, detectives and the parents or caregivers of the kids who had to work in the business.
The fourth paragraph talks about a “mother,” voice, maid and good friend, which refers to the main caretaker for the kids and the household. The rest of the poem should be self explanatory.