With Reference to His Early Life, No Chains and Women

Byron Killswater had just been boring me with stories of his early life,
no chains and women, when he took my hand in his and
dragged me out into the bitter city streets our breath stale
after beer, cigarettes and chewing over poetry from beer matts.
'He has so many mothers this child,' he said pointing,
unsteadily, his long index finger making a figure 8 at
this boy zig zagging playfully along the pavement then hiding
between the space made by an A sign carrying
the headline, 'City Man Found Dead in Quarry'.
There were so many women with their hands hanging
for him to hold, and when he sprung from his den
he was, one minute, like a cat rubbing himself against
their hurried stockinged legs, some denim,
then a dog snapping and sniffing at their fingers.
He had so many mothers looking down and smiling at him
with their wide eyes brown, blue and green - some grey.
'Each a different smell and beautiful,' he grinned.
All the heavens let them rain their love down on him.'
But there was one. There was just one
who took his little hand in hers not even looking down.
'Do you remember that?', said Byron Killswater
his arms flapping furiously to keep him warm not fly.
As we watched the boy was dragged limply into Woolworths,
A little mizzle hanging in the air, and we both felt something pushing.
We both felt something pulling.
We both felt something pushing and pulling
while all around us, nothing,
just the cold.
And then he offered me a cigarette.
And then we were both looking for a light.