When I Grow Up To Be A Man

When I Grow Up To Be A Man

The street is cold and smells of smoke,

the stones bite through my toes,

I watch the carts roll past the doors,

where mothers scrub and cry in rows.

Our house leans like it’s tired of life,

the roof sighs when the rain begins,

Mammy stirs the same grey pot,

and whispers to the air for sins.

My belly talks, it growls all day,

my hands are cracked and small,

but when I dream, I see a school,

a place with chalk and painted walls.

Mammy says, keep your head down son,

the world don’t give to lads like you,

but I will learn, I’ll read each book,

I’ll prove the streets can make you true.

I’ll wear a coat with silver buttons,

and shoes that shine like Sunday sky,

I’ll study hard, become a doctor,

no more will Mammy cry.

I’ll buy her bread, and butter too,

a house that smells of light,

no rats that creep, no wind that bites,

just warm and gentle nights.

I’ll buy her dresses soft as spring,

with colours that the sun would kiss,

and every meal we eat will sing,

of days we never had like this.

So though my hands are black with dirt,

and hunger bends my back,

I’ll grow, I’ll fight, I’ll heal the hurt,

and never once look back.

For one day Mammy, you will see,

your boy has kept his plan,

no longer poor, no longer small,

when I grow up to be a man.

One year later her son died so tragically,

the mother died too within the week,

she too caught the plague of London,

their dreams now rest where angels speak.