They Fuck You Up

Even now
I sometimes
write them off.
My Dad.
My Mum.

A quandary.

However much I try
to rage.
It doesn’t seem to work.

Yeah,
they fuck you up.
Your Mum and Dad.
And all that.

Larkin.
Just in case
you didn’t know.

Bit of a wanker.
To be honest.

Well,
Let me tell you
about
the day
when my chips
were down.

I was a boy,
In my twenties.
Looking for heroes
from my
Basildon bedroom.

I’d found one.
Tom Waits.

Sold out at the Dominion,
Tottenham Court Road.
London.

‘Here’s forty quid son.
and a tenner for a drink.
There will be touts,
don’t haggle.
Forty quid.’

I divided.
and I loved.

On payday.

‘Can you lend me fifty pound, son?’

They fuck you up.
Your Mum,
and Dad.