They have watched the infant egg and spoon
Mostly decorous, refraining from
Bad-form over-celebrating triumphs
And noticing the blatant use of thumbs;
They have clapped the junior classes’ sprint
As if they bought the trotted out credo
About the taking part, and even raised
A little cheer for kids they didn’t know.  
But now – what’s this – a parents’ race?
They had, they swear, no inkling that was coming,
Have not been training, nor selected clothes
With ease of speed in mind, but must show willing.
 
And if we should see pushing, clawing, tripping,
Expressions on the red-clawed side of wild,
Well, who are we to question their behaviour:
Life’s not fair,   
That PC comprehensive co-operation stuff is crap,
And they’re only doing the best for their child