Mark Heathcote

(22/03/66 / Manchester)

A father’s love for a teenage son


Who gave that almighty yell?
Like a giant with a rotten tooth ache.
“What in Lucifer’s name” this sour taste?
“What in damnations name” that awful smell?
The likes of some teenage Jesus…
One who hasn’t?
Changed his innocence, or his britches?
Since he first; had, erroneous boyish itches.
Then, God with his thunderbolt’s…
Struck; plunged a toothpick!
And dislodged the mucus, and sighed…
“Be gone my son” into the world of madmen.
And, there finds a dovecot house…
In a child’s heart: Sublunary,
White as the driven snow…
And there smothers it, as your own!
With a giant bellows toxic groan.

Submitted: Thursday, May 09, 2013
Edited: Sunday, March 23, 2014

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  • Ace Of Black Hearts (5/9/2013 7:00:00 PM)

    What a strange perspective, but I've never really had a father or had a son so I guess somethings are above my imagining. Good Poem. (Report) Reply

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