Wasting a moment surfing the web while preparing yesterday morning for my first custody trial in a few years, I gravitated to this poem by Philip Larkin. I rarely read poetry. Kinda disturbing that this is the poem I think of when starting a custody trial:
This Be the Verse
BY PHILIP LARKIN
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults 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 another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.
Filed under
(2) Comments
The few who weren't fucked-up real young,
the wise, the strong who laugh at curse,
will lift their friends but hold their tongue...
they've better things than bitter verse.
Maybe you can work that into your closing argument ! Ha Ha !
The few who weren’t fucked-up real young,
the wise, the strong who laugh at curse,
will lift their friends but hold their tongue…
they’ve better things than bitter verse.
Maybe you can work that into your closing argument ! Ha Ha !