Saturday, 14 March 2009
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.