BAD ROOTS

BAD ROOTS

By Peter Woodgate

I spread it on the table,

My completed family tree

Tracing all my ancestors

From cavemen up to me.

My finger wandered over lines

that led to various names,

And next to some, in brackets bold,

were details of the crimes.

It appears that I’ve descended

From a really motley bunch,

Details of which I can’t disclose

When it comes down to the crunch.

Needless to say I have no blue

Running through my veins,

No explorers, inventors or warriors

Or other various fames.

Right at the start, or so it seems

My ancestors made gates,

Fashioned from wood and allowing in

Their families and mates.

Of course, apart from letting in

They were designed to keep some out,

It appears the good could not get in

And the bad could not get out.

So, I’ve been stuck with an iffy past

I can’t change what’s gone before,

The future though, that’s up to me

I’m a villain, say no more..

Copyright Peter Woodgate