The Boy Has A Toy Car Poem by Sarah Persson

Battered from life, just 7 years old,
The boy holds a toy car in his hand,
His scruffy attire'd never seen a good wash,
His Mamma sat drunk, his time demands.

He looks down in pity at his Mother's fresh state,
He boils up the kettle for tea,
Her slippers all tattered, her face red and aged,
She used to look pretty when she could see.

The bottle bought blindness and sickened her mind,
She no longer sees what she should,
Who is this boy that takes life from her heart,
She would be well free of him if she could.

The boy brings her tea and helps her to sip,
She slowly looks into his eyes,
I'm sorry my son, can you help me to bed?
I love you Mamma he sighs.

No-one to hear him, his crying, his pain,
The toy car his only life friend,
No food in his tummy, all money spent on booze,
His scrawniness takes out to the bins.

Still hungry on return, he lays on the floor,
Curled up to stay warm with a sheet,
His body is aching but gently he sleeps,
Into dreamland, his only retreat.