kids

This Be The VerseThey fuck you up, your mum and dad.They may not mean to, but they do.They fill you with the faults they hadAnd add some extra, just for you.But they were fucked up in their turnBy fools in old-style hats and coats,Who half the time were soppy-sternAnd 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.Philip Larkin*I've had this post in mind for a very long time. Out of respect for my mom, though, I would never have published it while she was still alive.Now she's gone, and it no longer matters. This particular little circle of life will end with me soon enough. At 52, my own turn of the wheel is, statistically speaking, more than halfway done — and there are no children waiting in the wings to carry on.At first glance, the poem above seems unnecessarily harsh. I came across it by chance some years ago, and it struck a chord. Beneath the profanity and black humour was…