Two pieces of poetry have been looping in my head of recent days. The first is courtesy of Philip Larkin (and meant with no disrespect to the beautiful Chris and Frank, who did their very best with the two wild beasts they spawned. Clearly I mean David and Sam here).
They fuck you up, your mum and dad
They do not mean to, but they do
They fill you with the flaws they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one anothers throats.
Man hands on misery to man
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as quickly as you can
And don't have any kids yourself.
The other verse comes from your friend and mine; the brillant and bizarre Dr Suess:
Do you know who's asleep
Out in Foona-Lagoona?
Two very nice Foona-Lagoona Baboona.