Runaway

Into an alley, a young boy stumbles.
It's occupied. His courage crumbles.
Gap tooth jeers. Beer breath fumbles.
"Lookin' fer a place ta sleep?" He mumbles.

"Runner are ya?" The drunkard whines.
"We can always spot the signs.
This alley 'ere is Fred's and mines
It's where we sleeps an' drinks an' dines.

That's Fred right there.The scrag beard junkie
Eatin' drugs to feed 'is monkey.
Treats me like a  flippin' flunkey.
See 'is eyes, all red and gunkey."

Fire licks in metal bin. The warmth entices
young boy in. "I'm Stan," the man says,
proffering gin, "tell us your tale. Go on, begin."

The boy is wary but joins the pair.
They have a smoke and food to share.
Some comfort in his black despair.
The junkie smiles a vacant stare.


"You got a sleepin' bag young man?
Spread it out  by Uncle Stan.
You wants ter keep warm if ya can.
Now, come on tell us why ya ran."

Fortified a bit with tea he tells them why
he had to flee. "Mum wouldn't listen,
wouldn't see when I told her Dads abusing me.

Dad shouted and told her that I lied.
He beat me up. I nearly died.
I stayed for her sake. Really tried
but couldn't stop the fear inside.

So I ran and now I'm on the street
in rain and wind and snow and sleet.
with stinking clothes and rotten feet.

When I was little my life was sweet."

"B*****d should be shot," they said
"we'd pound him till our fingers bled.
You stick with us son, Stan and Fred.
We'll see ya right. Make sure you's fed.

Yer story's made us want ter weep.
We're sorry you've been 'urt so deep.
We'll be yer fam'ly nowso sleep.
an pray the Lord yer soul ter keep."