Teenage Dad, Kids in a Daze
Black against the fog and snow, Against shop windows all aglow, Their asses spread,
Five kids - Dad on methadone – poor things! – squat and shake, To watch happy people shop- food- warmth Love! Baker bake Hot golden bread.
They watch his white arms beat The dough, and feel the heat Of the bright stoves, With memories of Dads arm, burning bright in their hearts Pricked in search of the spectral cow of the sun.
They hear the baker softly hum! Rimes there mother, Sung in them, long ago to sleep, The crackling sound for the baking loaves.
Transfixed; they do not dear Disturb the fragrant glowing air, Warm as mother’s breast.
For a rich man’s holiday he bakes Golden rolls and pies and cakes - A sugary feast!
And then beneath the smoky roof-tops They hear a song from a savoury loaf - just like a bird! a song from the past!
The warm window steam and glows, And the five squat in their second hand, pas-me down clothes, Their senses blurred- Dad looks on, and then his arm, tears fall on cheek crystallised by cold of night, -For his babies!
They even think that they’re rich, too- Poor Baby Jesus in a row They are good kids, They would not harm you, They are nice kids, with a paper- round. Forgive my pain I may have brung to them! God help them Know! They forgive you Jesus!
I was given a love of self- deprecating bones and skin; I cannot turn within this suffocating love,
Monday - humiliation Tuesday – suffocation Wednesday – condescension Thursday – is pathetic Friday - life has killed us all!
Jesus we forgive you! we have know where to go! Know warmth for my children! As the snow falls;
They stick their little noses in Though the door a jar, moaning something Through the space
In a daze, saying prayers And bending towards the lights Of Paradise,
So hard they split their pants, And their shirt tails dance In the wind like ice.