My Puppy Died

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I was a good lad my mum said

until I was ten

my puppy died when I was ten.


Twelve years old

I drank and smoked

smashed up cars and got my dope,

fourteen I was in the gang

the no-hopers that was us,

stealing cars , causing grief

raped a girl about that time,

just a game we no-hopers played,

just a game.


At sweet sixteen it was mugging time

dear old ladies were the best,

to see the fear in their eyes

brought tears of joy to mine,

high on drugs and booze

stole a car, hit a girl

mother and child I killed them both,

but not my fault

not my fault

my puppy died when I was ten.

◄ The View over Maimana

Brown Paper Bag ►


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bernard shelton

Wed 19th Jan 2011 11:16

Philipos, Cynthia, Isobel thank you for your comments

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Mon 17th Jan 2011 19:23

Food for thought indeed Bernie - bring back hanging, birching, the electric chair, the guillotine and anything else that's going.

Joking apart, anyone that mugs old ladies needs a good seeing to and I love the social commentary.

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Mon 17th Jan 2011 19:14

Another good poem, I think (hope)you are lambasting the common excuse: Blame it on my childhood when I couldn't cope with problems; so it's all the fault of society. Not my responsibility!

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Mon 17th Jan 2011 18:03

Was seduced at first by the cute puppy and then realised the seriousness of your message here - great idea for a poem and opens up the social issues we face today in modern society - a lot that could be said about the deeper message which means your poem works and gets us thinking

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