39.

When I was an innocent child
I stood tall and happy.
Playing with my favourite toy.
An egg-shaped and dungaree'd,
fabric boy.
I didn't care for anything but
me.

I'd go to the park for air
And some larks.
I was well looked after and free.
My Mom (Anne) was alone,
single; not a bone
To spend on clothes at Marks and Sparks.

The reason for this was my Old Man.
The non-payer of maintenance.
His missus denied
The cash by their side
The judge ordered a weekly
pound.

I was too young to know
All this shit, when sewn;
Would come back and haunt
me.

Now Anne she worked hard, for
my safety to guard,
And he's fucked up the family tree.

I remember the days when we'd
Both think and hope amazed
That one time our luck would
come to us.

But it never came,
and I'm afraid to say
Our lives were shitty and rusted.
Always feeling so damn unadjusted.

But it was never her fault,
for she should be applauded;
To continue to look over me.
I know it wasn't easy;
When I used to help her work in pieces;
Her bosses were such queers.

That was the recession, Dears...