Back in the mists,Where youth exists,
I see a time when life
Was free from strain
And hurt and pain
And unrelenting strife.
But then one day
Came disarray –
My wife produced a son.
And I was told,
“Your life’s on hold
Till he turns twenty one.”
Some see a boy
As fun-filled joy,
A veritable blessing.
But they, I feel,
Have not met Neil
And put up with his messing.
You couldn’t win –
He’d simple grin
And go on having fun.
Oh God, I said,
I’ll be long dead
Before he’s twenty one.
He was, in school,
Nobody’s fool,
Though lessons never mattered.
Down at the back,
He dodged the flak
And sat around and nattered.
His teachers tore
Their hair and swore
They’d go and buy a gun,
And said, though clever,
He would never
Get to twenty one.
Without a doubt,
He wore us out
With all his bleedin’ messing.
He loved to dance
And flash his pants
And seemed to like cross-dressing.
Down Simon’s head
The egg-yolk spread –
You should have seen him run!
Life was a joke,
A cracked egg-yolk
Till he reached twenty one.
He seemed to breeze
Through life with ease,
Like living in a bubble.
From pan to fire,
He’d just conspire
To get himself in trouble.
Too late we saw
We should ignore
The stories that he spun.
Gold help his boss
In work or FÁS,
When he turns twenty one.
The Leaving Cert
Caused too much hurt
And didn’t seem that funny.
And so he fled
To work instead
To earn a bit of money.
And with a stash
Of hard-earned cash,
A new world was begun.
Hard work, hard play,
Each shagging day
As he neared twenty one.
But there’s no trace
Of life’s fast pace
Upon his boyish features.
No sign of wear
Or greying hair –
Oh God, I hate such creatures!
On me, the lines
Are well-worn signs
I’ve lost and he has won.
There’s much to learn
From those who burn
Through life at twenty one.
So now its here,
Break out the beer.
The day I’ve yearned for ages
Has come at last.
They’re in the past,
Those adolescent stages.
Joy unconfined!
But still I find,
When all is said and done,
He’s still the same,
Still playing the game,
Although he’s twenty one.
