To excuse Charlie Barr everything except what life
has dealt him, his mother took up with a thug his own age,
while his father (lackadaisical and little cared for)
died of causes unknown and dropped straight to hell.

But Charlie Barr stayed where he was and went supremely mad.
He forgot to shave and cultivated a limp after his lurid girlfriend
(thin and hard) kicked him out, took the child (not his),
deadlocked the door and stopped shouting long enough
for Charlie Barr to go nowhere with no-one, just up
the town and down, dragging his heel and answering the voice
(not hers) by directing cars and kicking dogs, in a hurry
to get where he’s going so he can start again, because

Charlie Barr enjoys it, as far as it goes; because it makes him
feel good, usually, all those times he catches sight of himself
in a shopfront before stoving it in with a boot or headbutt
to the glass, himself as others see him, but in reverse.