My Skiphat

 

I came across this boy one day. 

Begging for pennies to keep hunger at bay. 

His skiphat at his feet.

His hair cut short and neat.

I just stood and looked .

Why don't you go home to your mum I said.

'Mrs,' he said, 'I cant go home, 

You see the drugs have entered my bones.

Every day I sit with my Skiphat at my feet.

Missing my Mum and home, 

Missing my hugs because of the drugs.

'Tell your weans,

 Use your brains don't be a mug.

Stay away from drugs.

Smack give it a wack.

Es turns you into a dirty wee Bs.

Hash can't you see its trash.

Blues will land you in prison blues.

'Listen to me...

 My story is true, 

With my Skiphat at my feet.   

My hairs no longer neat.

My arms, legs, face is so skinny.'

Hold on to your life, cause I no longer have mine.

My Mum's got me home.

My Skiphat no longer at my feet.

It's on my Head now.

My hair's short and neat.

'YES that's my boy'

My Mum tells all.

'Yes that's my boy lying there in his Coffin'. 

Cath Wallace