Every son is a heartbreaker, every mother is a peacemaker.
How was I, how will I be, my mother is ancient history.
If I said I would do something when I’m good and ready when would that be says I to she a very long time says she to me.
So I had my feet on the table and she said she would rather I had not, I thought of girls and rock’n’roll that was all I got.
Now I am the oldest, my older brother died, there was a break in my voice, I almost cried.
I was there when my mother died.
My brother, I have more than one, said to my mother how good she was to look after us when she was left alone.
She said she thought others had done it so she could do it too, from a choking dog’s throat she removed a bone.
Everyone’s life is their own.
Need I say more, must I gild the lily?
In my life I have been silly.
My favourite singer is a hillbilly.
My likes vary from time to time, that is no crime.
My favourite music is what I’m listening to right now.
Well chosen, yes, I love it anyhow.
That’s all for now.
So how on Earth is this poem about every son?
I don’t know, I am only one.
Many are called but few are chosen may be said as many are cold but few are frozen, so my father said.
He is also dead.
Well I’m not quite.
I never quite know when to stop.
Am I the good or bad cop?
Have a lollipop.
19th December, 2017