Roughness

Of course you see them as rough sorts
Their words are coarse words
Yet it was never like this
Back in your chapel days
Or in the Sunday school
Or at home with the children...

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Worthiness

But don’t think I’m not worthy
I’m worth any two of them soft lards
With my body I can carry an ox
I can pull a sheep
From off them bloody ledges
Up on the scar
Carry ‘em all the way home
If needs must
An that’s not through...

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Mothers

You turn away
Don’t you
Embarrassed
You don’t want
To be associated
With those harsh
And bigoted
Points of view...

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Sons

You can remember the past, perhaps not quite so clear, but you do remember, don’t you, you do remember overheard conversations:

They’ve no right being here
Bloody students
Who do they think they are
They’re not like me
Me
I’m an ordinary lad
But I’ve got a language of my own
I’ve got my own identity
For sure it’s true
Some of me mates have shaved their heads
A sort of socially implied tribal-bonding...


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W Spa

Gentle, peaceful
Warm summer
Except
Yes, except that I remember

That poem I wrote
About a striped wasp

And today
For this the last poem
I am surrounded again
By wasps

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