by | Nov 3, 2008 | Poetry | 0 comments

A tall but quite teenage boy, typical kind of sloth
Growing up in expanding world, he may become a toff
Idle hands no need to work or help around the house
Night time creeping, scares his mum, as if he were a mouse
Part job he replies. Yes at a garden centre
If only this was the truth, his dad could be his mentor
New boots for him not ankle length but a little higher
He hasn’t got a weekend job. He’s a little liar
What is this suggested plan is it real or is it mystic
The Long hair, with boots and funny coloured lipstick
Been to Whitby recently, seen sea and foam froth
What is more I think I know, he’s turned into a GOTH?


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