The Cliche Kid Carol Ann Duffy

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I need help, Doc, and bad: I can't forget
the rustle of my father's ballgown as he bent
to say goodnight to me, his French scent ...

Give me a shot of something. Or the sound of ma
and her pals up late, boozing, dealing the cards.
Big Bertha pissing out from the porch under the stars ...

It gets worse. Chalkdust. The old schoolroom empty.
This kid so unpopular even my imaginary friend left me
for another child. I'm screwed up, Doc, jumpy ...

Give me a break. Don't let me pine for that first love,
that faint down on the cheeks, that easy laugh
in my ears, in my lonesome heart, the day that I had to leave...

Sweet Jesus, Doc, I worry I'll miss when a long time dead
the smell the smell the smell of a baby's head,
the fresh-baked grass, dammit, the new-mown bread ...