Estate Dad glowers out of the window,
Fortress Prison,
Escaped from the hell-hole to here,
Not quite adjusted,
His kids snapping and snarling in their minds -
Outward pretence is fine but the dog-eat-dog surfaces
In low-grade amorality,
The drifting street thugs coalescing around this low point in acceptability
Where anything goes,
Straight-faced lies,
Manipulation,
Raucous threats and denials,
‘Don’t YOU accuse ME! Or I’ll have my Mum on you!’ -
It must have been bitter where they lived for their hearts are frosted over
And for some the thaw will never come,
Too long, too late,
Twisted out of shape,
Like stunted trees in a cold, cold wind.
It takes a long time to get the horror of a crappy council estate out of your system
