Growing Boy - Poem

Growing Boy

Mum always called me her growing baby boy.

If only she knew how right she had been.

I learned early on that something was off.

The way my nails grew back was something unseen.

But the parlour trick was not stopping there.

The limited injuries kept both parents aware.

Well, the doctors deemed me fit.

Medically magnificent above it all.

15 years later and the growing boy still just that.

But now almost six feet tall.

-

So, when Dad up and left, for this reason or that cause.

I picked up the pieces.

Bills began to climb.

I could always tell the bad letters just from Mums nervous creases.

Our family deserved better.

Dad leaving would not break us.

It was unheard of to think aloud.

To speak it would have been insane.

But what gifts can I give my family.

When I am the boy who feels no pain.

-

The search for answers led me into the dark.

To the parts of the world that hide in shame.

But with the ticking clock of homeward troubles rolling.

I sought out a much darker fame.

Ego and pride would need to dwindle and sleep for now.

Time to be a man.

Breaking bones for cash.

Some people are eager to pay.

I was a young boy.

They seemed keen regardless of what they might say.

-

Weeks down the line and the bones always reset.

The bills began to shrink.

Her face lost the pale sweat.

But still the messages kept coming.

“Can we try this next time?”

One final pay off I thought.

Get the bag and leave.

The plastic wrap lay beneath me now.

In his hand was the cleave.

I won’t bore you with the details.

The bone break or the lost right arm.

But much to this freaks disdain.

I think I can feel no more harm.

-

I gave Mum the money.

Every last ill-gotten note.

Truth is I grew to like these tests.

These limits in which I cross.

To see if dismembering me from head to toe.

Could really finish me off.