After Dinner (That Boy)A Poem by Zack BurtonThey grow up so fast.
When he was born he was anguished and thin
Puckering, suckling, every little moment Never did he give up, never once, not a bit Squawked like a squirrel when he had to take a s**t Mommy took him to the kennel, daddy took him to the shop He saw the death of every puppy, knew the name of every cop Soon to be the baby genius Of his daddy's greasy shop When he was young he sucked fat from the land Till they started sucking dry his daddy's money by the grand All those pimps and their prostitutes Those bookies and their bet All of them wanted a piece of that debt And by the time they were finished giving him strife They put a bullet in his head and sold away his wife And that's when the days for the kid got hard Poor thing didn't know what to do from the start All the time he'd learned f**k hard, talk soft And everything now was left rotting in the loft The problems he had were as much as the sand The s**t he got into was the greatest in the land And the story they tell, heard throughout all of hell Of the boy and his life and his drugs and their sale He grew up in the back of his grammy's pickup truck All the cool adult told him to just not give a f**k And that's how he learned to start sucking on weed He'd seen his daddy do it from the time he was three Nasty as it was, he just didn't care a bit He'd drink up on his pride for another blessed hit Never had you seen a more absolute pothead After breakfast, before dinner, till his lungs turned to lead And that's just the start before it went to his heart All the drugs and the sex and the whole shopping cart He found a million girls and bought a magazine of sick He had bugs in his pubes and boils on his dick And that's how we learned just how bad it got And we tried to stop him, but he just died on the spot Shot through the head by a fat rival dealer And nobody cared to call for a healer They say now, you know, he died like his daddy Drowning on the ground in his terraced blood paddy Where's his mommy's at now, God, nobody knows Most of us hope that she's dead though we don't disclose How much we all miss her for that high-class c**t We don't say it, we deny it though we know it's what we want How'd it get this far? Well, nobody tells Of that boy and his life and the drugs and their sale © 2011 Zack BurtonAuthor's Note
|
StatsAuthorZack BurtonFelicity, OHAboutHowdy, folks, I'm Zack Burton. I already have two accounts on this site, but seeing as I'm utterly dissatisfied with them both, they should be closed by now. I'm much more of a poet than a short s.. more..Writing
|