Love the child to be the man

The quiet back row child is dull or stupid,
just like the rest of them, the bloody paddies,
they only drink, and need a good scrubbing.
He had rags on and smelt of shit Tuesday.
I get the creeps the way he looks at you,
big empty eyes. The gossip says uncles
have had a hand spreading legs, if you get
my drift. I know the mom, so can believe.
I knew the words your head made up, they leaked
inside my brain slowing it up, a cancer
waiting. to burst when ever happiness crept in
I once had pills to scrub it dead but woke
early knowing even Jesus says no
so loved the child I was,to grow the man.