After Dinner (That Boy)

After Dinner (That Boy)

A Poem by Zack Burton

They grow up so fast.

When he was born he was anguished and thin
Puckering, suckling, every little moment
Never did he give up, never once, not a bit
Squawked like a squirrel when he had to take a s**t

Mommy took him to the kennel, daddy took him to the shop
He saw the death of every puppy, knew the name of every cop
Soon to be the baby genius
Of his daddy's greasy shop

When he was young he sucked fat from the land
Till they started sucking dry his daddy's money by the grand
All those pimps and their prostitutes
Those bookies and their bet
All of them wanted a piece of that debt
And by the time they were finished giving him strife
They put a bullet in his head and sold away his wife

And that's when the days for the kid got hard
Poor thing didn't know what to do from the start
All the time he'd learned f**k hard, talk soft
And everything now was left rotting in the loft
The problems he had were as much as the sand
The s**t he got into was the greatest in the land
And the story they tell, heard throughout all of hell
Of the boy and his life and his drugs and their sale

He grew up in the back of his grammy's pickup truck
All the cool adult told him to just not give a f**k
And that's how he learned to start sucking on weed
He'd seen his daddy do it from the time he was three
Nasty as it was, he just didn't care a bit
He'd drink up on his pride for another blessed hit
Never had you seen a more absolute pothead
After breakfast, before dinner, till his lungs turned to lead

And that's just the start before it went to his heart
All the drugs and the sex and the whole shopping cart
He found a million girls and bought a magazine of sick
He had bugs in his pubes and boils on his dick
And that's how we learned just how bad it got
And we tried to stop him, but he just died on the spot
Shot through the head by a fat rival dealer
And nobody cared to call for a healer

They say now, you know, he died like his daddy
Drowning on the ground in his terraced blood paddy
Where's his mommy's at now, God, nobody knows
Most of us hope that she's dead though we don't disclose
How much we all miss her for that high-class c**t
We don't say it, we deny it though we know it's what we want

How'd it get this far? Well, nobody tells
Of that boy and his life and the drugs and their sale

© 2011 Zack Burton

Author's Note

Zack Burton
Thanks for the reviews. I'm considering consolidating the After Dinner series into a book before I get into too many of them.

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Added on April 23, 2011
Last Updated on April 23, 2011
Tags: after dinner, drugs, childhood, teenagers, life, death, urban, hopeless


Zack Burton
Zack Burton

Felicity, OH

Howdy, folks, I'm Zack Burton. I already have two accounts on this site, but seeing as I'm utterly dissatisfied with them both, they should be closed by now. I'm much more of a poet than a short s.. more..