Ballad of the Participant Observer in a Deviant Subculture

by Philip Murray

I lied with the liars,
I cheated with cheats
To con what made
Their crooked hearts beat.

I slashed my palm
And swore by the blood
I would never be good,
I would never be good.

I ripped my uniform,
I dumped my food;
I spied on my keepers
Whenever I could.

I played being sick,
I gripped my bed;
But my cleverest trick
Was to play being dead.

All through my wake,
While the prisoners wept
And the keepers watched,
I secretly slept.

But just as they lowered me
Into the grave
I leaped from my coffin
And started to rave:

“Liars and cheaters,
Keepers and kept,
Bleeders and sleepers,
Weepers and wept,

D is for danger,
E is for earth,
A is for anger,
T is for truth,

H is for handball,
Hunchback, hospital,
Handlebar, homesick,
Hunger strike, hell.

Put them all together
And what do they spell?”
But they buried me alive
Before I could tell.

L’envoi

Is Death the reason
Boys misbehave?
I keep the seasons
In a seasonless grave.