(with apologies to RS Thomas)
There was Tim Puw. He was no good.
He 'never really had a chance in life',
He smoked some skunk weed when the baby cried
At late evening lost his temper
Broke the thigh of a three month child.
There was Paul Puw, and he was no good.
In the evening after the rowing
With his wife Debbie, he would sit in his chair,
And stare into the mangled parrot's cage,
Twisting the bird until its head detached.
There was Chris Puw, too. What shall I say?
I have seen him texting on a mobile
On and on, as though his wife
Would never again see her lover,
And all the hammers were bloodstained.
And lastly there was the girl:
Beauty under some spell of the beast.
Her four years were the lanterns
By which we read in life's dark book
The shrill sentence: God help us
They Hate You
6 hours ago