Papa

Salmon and trout, all be out.
And make sure they’re not after.
Have a drink boy, grow up quick boy.
Be just like your father.
Ignore all change, forget to hope.
Learn to live with racist jokes.
Walk the line, sharp as whisky.
Make sure you’re dead before you’re sixty.
Why are you crying?
What’s the problem here?
Can’t you see I’m lying.
Can’t you see I’m lost in fear.
Man up boy, shake off those feelings.
Take on the challenge of dirty dealings.
Respect me, fear me, and do so silently.
And grow up hating every part of me.

19/01/202226/11/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: family, fears, smokeTags: art, cockney, dad, drink, family, father, fear, hurt, joke, papa, poem, Poetry, rascist, rhyme, slang, smoking, time, whisky 12 Comments