Mother's Knee
My judgemental face,
you called it,
when it's the only one
I have
and besides, any
judgement I might deem
appropriate had already
fled,
withered by the ease of
your irk
so I flee, seeking
solace among books
and the words of
masters long dead.
Am I still remembered
among my peers?
Those I went to college
with will be long dead,
and the dream I had of
meeting them
was tainted with the
memory
of a borrowed record
never returned.
Lou Reed's Transformer,
walked on the wild side
of Wolverhampton and
Newcastle,
where I learned to run
faster
than the thugs behind
me;
learning self defence
not for the discipline
but for the lifeline it
promised
among the high-rises
and concrete walkways,
an epitaph to
childhood,
where the cold granite
of the grave has become
the lid of suppressed
memories.
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