Indoctrination
I am vaguely surprised by how many youngish men are interested in poetry nowadays. When I were a lad expressing a fondness for poetry would have likely got you thwacked with a wet towel.Dead Poets Society (1989) did little to address the issue. Moreover it seemed to send the message that blowing your brains out with your father's revolver is the most practicable way of avoiding being sent to Military School which, not so subtly, brings me onto the main theme in this collection: death.
Frightening but somehow appealing on many levels death can be a whole lot of fun, particularly if it's happening to someone else, yet we never really seem to get to grips with it. First we need to come to terms with how insignificant we really are. You may be the centre of your world but you are unlikely to be at the centre of anyone else's. When your children develop dementia they probably won't even recognise your face. Mostly it's good to go first or even better not have children at all.
Your death can be quick if you want it to be but you are going to have a fight on your hands. Sadly the state won't help you die painlessly, though I'm sure they do their best, but there is a solution. Make yourself comfortable at St Stephen's Tavern opposite the Palace of Westminster and shoot dead any MP who voted against the recent Assisted Dying bill. There is a certain irony in this. SCO19 will eventually be left with no option but to take you out. I mean they'll kill you rather than buy you dinner. Make sure they can get only a head shot.
The first poem is actually about conception and the last two peas and staying in bed but that was just me looking to cheer you up at the end.
You can take me home if you like. This booklet I mean, not me. That would be unsafe. I might give you syphilis, not that I've got it. I'd have to inject you whilst you were asleep and I don't think I have a syringe either. Of course I do know how to spell "Introduction".