& how do you feel about that?

pushed way down

& how do you feel about that?

to say those feelings

were pushed way down

some long while ago

for a reason

the hurt the pain the truth

how easy this heart is

to be pushed around

a pretty face pretty smile

nice words pretending kind

enough to manipulate my mind

embarrassment of being a fool

caught on such little bait

yeah I pushed them way down

for fear of being nothing

just another clown

for not learning the lesson

the first time

unwanted few

it was work

digging fetching carrying

but I was young

no matter what they pushed me to

I did it

I could see them hear them plotting

but I would not could not tap out

you want this moved where?

& back to there?

yeah ok I can do that

& off I’d go

sweating in the sun

their idea was to find my break point

the place where I’d give in give up out

& I didn’t want to allow them

any satisfaction

I’d meet these bully boys every day

in schools churches streets police stations

they thought they had the secret code

knowing some kids you could fuck with

twist hurt & nobody would give a damn

while our secret was to endure

wait for them to get bored move on

find easier meat

& sure enough the boss man came over

you finished fucking this fella around?

he set them straight gave them

the hard work to do

I read

read everything that passed these eyes

back of cereal packets

anything lying around got seen

& books out of the library dozen a day

drove the librarian crazy you haven’t read these

& I could get her to choose a page

tell her the ideas on show there shut her up

devoured the great fictions of the day & past

until I get to a place could see the forming plot

see what they were wanting to say

who they were behind the words

what the writing was really all about

who they why they were writing for

& that drew the curtains on that guy

with a very few exceptions but now they are dead

I’d go looking for another genre to hit the spot

on & on consuming every drop of word

I find it hard to find anything now

can help me make it to the very end

these people writing about those well spoken others

I can’t ever care about their well fed lives

nobody much writes on the poor

no one cares much any more about the workers

the livers from day to day living on bare boards

post modern literature has swept all of that away

we’re to be strivers go getters in novels

on the screens pushed in everything we do

& the Be is gone