Notes on Boyhood

In verse form

Bad Lad

He’s really quite a dreadful boy
(He’s worse than all the others),
And not at all the kind of chap
You’d take home to your mothers.

I heard he picks his nose
And forces girls to eat it!
And when you think it can’t get worse –
I promise he can beat it:

He’ll sit down square upon your face
And make you breathe his farts.
But he’s merely getting going now,
Before the real fun starts!

You think you’ve got some bruises?
He’ll give you many more.
With pinches, punches, Chinese burns...
(And no-one’s keeping score).

But if you can, just spare a thought
For him and other hearties,
Who do so want to come along
To others’ birthday parties,

And play with friends at silly games
For points and toys and prizes,
And individual packs of sweets
And other nice surprises;

To go home tired and happy,
And be hugged by mum and dad,
Instead of lying cold in bed –
And holding on for life to Ted –
(Or, sometimes, wishing he were dead)
While praying that “Tomorrow, Lord!”

He won’t be quite so bad.

—