Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Dear Father and God and all them Saints —
well here I am again,
looking at you through this small window.
you being the head guy here and all,
and I’ve just this minute now come from the street where,
they don’t like me.
No, none of the bastards like me.
Sorry for swearing this early on and all, but
to tell the truth – and Sister says you should always tell the truth —
the truth being that they bloody well hate me. Never mind don’t
                                                                                      like me.

Except for that weekend when I’de got new roller-skates that is, and
dad said he could see it coming, and mam said that it was just an  
                                                                                       excuse
and that trouble was brewing and the skates were frigged — sorry,
                                                                                       broken,
by Monday. Wrecked and all, they was and
now, just now, I got another fist right in my back
and all I’me doing is walking down the god-damn street — sorry
(and I ask forgiveness for all the swearing — especially the swearing
                                                                       I haven’t done yet
— better to be sorry than safe and that.) FATHER — any chance of
                                                                                a hand here,
I am after dropping on this old confessional floor of yours
because — I just done like God in that temple that time,
when he upturns the lot of them for playing poker and stuff –
and throws them all clean down some steps
(I’ve always liked that part Father I don’t know about you......)
but I appear to have given two of them a
right thumping — and god I enjoyed it — could you
forgive me in the name of the Father and of the Son and the Holy
                                                                             Goat — and
could the penance be ‘to go’ father — because unless there’s a
                                                                back way out of here
the two of them are waiting outside for me.
So much for Sundays, eh Father?