He had a disintegrating childhood.
Broken home, residential and foster care.
Joined the army aged fifteen and three quarters.
Married. Three kids. Divorced.
Married again. Three more kids.
Six tours back to back. Left the army, sick to death.
Friends disintegrating in his arms. Just kids.
Home to family. To hope, but more despair.
Rows and harsh words.
"Get a job, we need more money",
"You're not the man I married",
"I can't do this any more".
Police call outs. Cautions. Arrests. Convictions.
He lives in a rented room now.
Sells double glazing door to door.
Sees the kids on Sundays.
(She's not vindictive. No restraining order)
Nine medals sitting in the bedside drawer.
"I was mentioned in dispatches" he murmurs
As he disintegrates into a bottle of Irish.