Three uses of the 'F' word
Downward looking I faced the floor,
I'd really had enough I couldn't take any more.
Colour of my skin was "colouring" my life.
I decided that day I'd take my life.
Not a decision taken lightly,
I'd thought on it daily,
my life to take,
I'll do it for my own sake.
(thinks) . . . rope . . . ?
Son of dubiously chaste mother.
Cast-off from a foreign father.
Doomed before I started-
outsider looking in.
Shunned by the very family,
that were supposed to love
at the tender age of seven,
I knew I'd never fit in.
I saw the rope . . .
In little quiet hamlets up and down the North-east coast,
community spirit stretched from the houses to the harbour,
or towards the Coal-mine, and I felt like a big cuckoo,
the in-between years of shunned misery had it's effect on me.
still I saw the rope . . .
At the age of ten when the other kids finished their playing,
on the swing suspended from the oak.
I crossed over the dene, from my hiding place,
and stood underneath, admiring the rope.
hello old friend . . . , said the rope
In my teens in the 60's and 70's it got considerably worse.
At school all the young bucks who strutted their stuff,
needed someone to practice on to show the girlie's their might
enter the "darkie" who never fought back, easy meat.
still here pal, just say the word . . . , said the rope
As an adult "I'd finally arrived" my own kinda man.
But then brought low by a woman who should've known,
how to treat her man with her love.
A love given freely, shouldn't be treated with indifference,
especially not to me.
So I bought the rope . . .
Leaving the kids was the hardest thing I did on that day,
I loved them and they loved me, I knew this and so did they.
The rest came easy as I walked to the cemetery,
never looking back. On the way,
I'd seen a tree the other day,
So I went.
I've waited for ever so long but finally. . .you're here . . . , said the rope
I'd plotted and schemed I'd thought it all planned,
. . . A knot on either end for the wood and the man
but wait . . . ! I thought to myself . . . "Fuck It!" . . . and . . . "Fuck Them All!"
Why should I give them the satisfaction? I've more than earned this right to life.
Are we doing this . . . ? asked the rope
At the very last minute I changed my mind.
Un-tip-toed on a box nothing in my hand,
looking up at the branch and ready to throw up,
simple matter of winding round the limb and let go . . .
swinging in the breeze delivering a verdict of me.
Standing bewildered beneath the massive oak tree,
wondering how to bring the rope down to me?
Sense of purpose, newly acquired.
I wanted the rope so upwards I climbed,
hands getting splintered with bark and bits of tree.
singing, "I ain't afraid of no rope."
Struggling to untie the knot on the rope,
I would've used to die without any hope.
At the end of my tether seen as a joke,
now looking up and seeing the sun,
I thought of my life and what had been done.
My daughters were my last saving grace,
who was I to deny them their Daddy's face.
I was the only one there for you . . . , whispered the fading rope . . .
I ended up on the hanging branch,
looking down from a height, and filling my pants.
As I pondered my fate a thought occured to me
A feller could die, falling from a big fucking tree.
FOR SALE . . . Never been used . . . A Rope