I’ve just been told by a twelve year-old
Go & shag your dead dad,
the latest in a long & heartfelt list
to do with shagging parents, kids,
household pets, the long-forgotten dead.
My dad wouldn’t really understand.
he’d either ask them what they meant
or be laconic & suggest that they
had better fetch a spade
& don’t forget the sellotape.
The scars & bruises fade with
therapy & medical attention yet
will never totally go but linger mercilessly
I know his dad has died & that, within himself,
he’s still to say goodbye, which may explain
his need to roar Fuck off!
a dozen times a day at me.
Although I think, to him, I am his dad
& won’t be dead & won’t fuck off
& absolutely will not go & fuck myself
or anybody else or their relations.
When everyone eventually fucks off
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