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February 20, 2013

Even now
I sometimes
write them off.
My Dad.
My Mum.

A quandary.

However much I try
to rage.
It doesn’t seem to work.

they fuck you up.
Your Mum and Dad.
And all that.

Just in case
you didn’t know.

Bit of a wanker.
To be honest.

Let me tell you
the day
when my chips
were down.

I was a boy,
in my twenties.
Looking for heroes
from my
Basildon bedroom.

I’d found one.
Tom Waits.

Sold out at the Dominion,
Tottenham Court Road.

‘Here’s forty quid son.
and a tenner for a drink.
There will be touts,
don’t haggle.
Forty quid.’

I divided.
and I loved.

On payday.

‘Can you lend me a tenner son?’

They fuck you up.
Your Mum,
and Dad.

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