Poor Boy

Soaking in shame,
toking in vain,
set in fear
like a jelly, inane,
convulsive and pallid,
sweat dripping and
the stench was blame.

Fear aswirl all round my head,
memories of lies and
a piss-riden bed.
Torn apart between people,
feeling like a dog’s toy;
looking up to broken men,
O, what a poor boy.

Cigarette ash trays
and half-empty bottles;
social club nights
and passenger seats, full-throttle.
Fights and sights and
bellyaches.
And ruptures so small
that seemed like earthquakes.

Bowls full of salted peanuts -
“there’s twenty men’s urine on those”.
Put on a smile,
cheer up, come on: pose!
Christmas with violence
and Easters of binge.
Always wanting to be a king,
but I never was a prince.

Circled by fretful women,
their friends who were protectors.
Then straight back in the lion’s cage:
it’s feeding time, deflect this.
Bullets that went skin deep,
buckshot to the body.
The neighbours’ cats would fight all night.
I’d wake up feeling sorry.

Baths of bubbly water
and lying down, nose above the surface,
or lying, back against the cold porcelain,
putting a wet flannel upon my face
and practising breathing -
beneath the water, fanning out, my hair,
and listening to the muffled sound of my voice.
I’d hold my breath and count to ten
then come up for air.

School was a heavy sentence;
some teachers’ smiles were golden.
But others had mouths full of
sneers and teeth like jagged grains of rice,
their gaze would fix you frozen.
Playground fights and fairground lights
and rides that left you reeling
and lying in the darkness
staring at the ceiling.

Count one breath, two breaths, three - ten.
Breathing in the fleeting joy
before the pain washed over again.
O my, O my, what a poor, poor boy.