Return to Senior and adult poems list, adult like themes  Return to home page

Book 7 Page 10

I’ll kill that kid


When I was a child my mother and I would have these

dramatic, ‘mother to son’ episodes.

For I was her naughty son and she sometimes referred to as;

her “darling little ‘so and so.”


I seemed to know exactly how to push her buttons

for my timing was impeccable, for just when;

my life seemed to be in serious danger,

I would do the in expectable, like, ‘run!’


I seemed to have this knack of knowing

exactly how far to push her.

And then I’d change my tack suddenly,

when she was about to lunge, (metaphorically speaking,) at my jugular.


What she didn’t know was that it was like I had

invisible antenna’s planted in my head,

Which told me of the emanate probability, (that if I didn’t change my tack) I’d very soon be dead.


I just knew (call it “kids intuition,” if you like!)

when things were getting ‘too hot.’

And when exactly it was time to run, or hide, or to plead for mercy,

or to throw in my lot.


I remember one time though; my antenna must have been down,

for my timing was clearly flawed,

and when she caught up with me, O lord,

she evened up the score.


I got the hammering of my life.

but it didn’t stop me, I just thought, “You can’t break me.”

And pretty soon I was back to my usually tricks

of mind altering cleverness and general behaviour of criminality. 


Now you may well ask;



Why did all this all occur?

What could cause a grown woman to feel like she wanted to kill her own darling little boy?

And to date the best theory I have is that, in another life, she must have been a

Mc Chesnee and I must have been a Mc Coy.


They say; “some mothers do have em,”

and she reckons that, “she was the one.”

I’d torture her daily and for my troubles often got a hard spanking,

on my (not so innocent) little bum.


And so; these were my younger days when,

when I was just a little boy

moving to life under a different drum.

And this is the story of one mother and her darling / sweet / lovable son. © Written by Dominic John Gill   22/10/99