Here Is

Here is the puddle boy, who plays alone

Poking the dirty waters

Outside of his home.

Here is the mother, who brims with hate

Cursing her womb

(She’s too much on her plate).

And here is the dog of mixed descent-

How many hours whimpering,

In the yard were spent?

And here are the young girls who laugh at the dark

Cider is like armour,

so thin in the park.

Here is the Old woman, wearing metres of scarf

Staring down the cold as she walks

On her dodgy old calf.

There go the Lads up for a fight

Burning their enemy time

Long into the night.

Where is the dad, who holds it all together?

No one knows, he never calls

Never, ever.

Here is the Old man, who didn’t fight in the war

He hobbles to the shop,

To the hated foreigner’s store.

And there goes the handicapped man,

his carer in tow

All this pain he sees, but will he ever know?