If you send a child to ward off the troubles
She will see only monsters and confusion
A black frying pan she sets down with two hands
And in it she dollops a corner of lard
It’s interesting to watch it turn clear
It’s hot enough now for a couple of fat sausages
They’re sizzling in the pan, but not in nursery rhymes,
she never knew them.
And if she did they were squashed into soul-less places like heels and elbows
Her heart was already full of pain and her belly was full of sausages.
Her father brings bread and tea in the morning and there’ll be hot lunch at school
But on Saturday‘s her heart is full of pain and her belly is full of sausages.
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