Plot, Counter- Plot and Sabotage

True, when I was young, just a teenage fool,

I was oversexed. And

I think I’ve paid for it, with years

Of counselling and libido- suppressants.

Also moot that nowadays, they will not speak to me.

Even the same, they also played a part in the deceit,

With official bills for child support.

So, a few years ago I made up my mind,

To recognize the truth about these half- families.

I boldly spoke to them about fatherhood,

And received blunt denials and accusations of delusion.

So, there’s the point, - they had thought that if

I was game enough to bed them, then

I could just as well pay, regardless of how

The young ones weren’t mine.

Part two involves my defence,

When I called those who consider us all,

To be guilty until proven innocent, and

I claimed my money back.

This is how I dismantled my first three dates,

In a trial leading to compensation.

I can just imagine them, discussing in a circle,

How much they hate me now.

In the mean real world, hatred be damned,

I’ll have the money. It was mine in the first place,

And they can keep their distance.

What to do with all this money? I thought…

I could sign off welfare and spend the proceeds,

Even invest for more. So I did,

And felt like I was flying, until she arrived, -

“I’m on the move, can I stay?” she said,

While putting her hair up into a bun,

She walked straight to the spare room, said it was fine,

Before even listening to my answer.

With her came the bickering, the demands, the screaming,

And her stinky friends and their overparking.

Their blank denials made me late for work,

While they laughed and said I didn’t matter,

That they mattered. They paid no rent and stayed over.

I had a card, just a paper card,

With numbers in code written in pen,

My hoard hidden behind the numbers.

It was like an electric wire, all buzzing with potential,

Too dangerous to keep in my pocket,

So, I kept it on the floor. I turn around once,

For a cup of tea, while she’s bickering,

And what do you know, the card was gone,

Taken by a stranger. There was next to nothing

I could do about it, when faced with her lies and demands.

“You owe me, you owe me,” she said.

How unfortunate I am, my follies extant,

I tried but could not escape the lowlife,

To rise above and put it all behind me,

Because of my associations and their accomplices.

Once again, the poorhouse doors open,

To questions for my names, dates and numbers.