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 said…
“Be gone my son” into the world of madmen.
And, there find a dovecot house…
In a child’s heart: Sublunary,
White as the driven snow…
And there smother it, as your own!
With a giant bellows toxic groan.
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