Our Father

Who comes home at eleven

Bellowing my name,

Stinking of rum.

You should have killed me at birth cos you’re killing me at seven.

Give us this day our daily beating.

Forgive us for wishing you were dead, as we forgive the police

For leaving you here to hurt me and Mum.

Beat us not, our supplication.

You’re the giver of evil,

But mine is the story,

I’ll tell in the courtroom,

You’ll never ever hurt us,

Again.