The Story of Jack B.

Jack B’s mum and partner they did not care,

They pinched his skin and pulled his hair,

They prodded and poked his little body,

Left him hungry, sad, smelly and grubby.

His battered bruised body the doctor saw,

And they said Jack couldn’t live at home no more,

The social rushed to come to his aid,

And an emergency foster placement was made.

Jack was cleaned up, watered and fed,

And spent the night in a really nice bed,

But Jack couldn’t sleep he was full of fear,

His rosy red cheecks were awash with tears.

Would you like some breakfast? his carer said,

There’s cereal, sausage, eggs, beans and bread,

Yes said Jack that would be great!

And without using cutlery he cleaned up his plate.

I’ve found for you a nice new place,

His Social worker said  a smile on her face,

What have I done wrong Jack B thought?

Been naughty? Oh well, it must be my fault!

The new placement was just not the same,

And Jack led the carers a merry game,

The placement has ended they said in a fax,

And put his young life in two rubbish sacks.

Jack B. can be, at times, really cool,

But that never lasts very long at all,

His foster carers he punches and kicks,

His Social Worker he’s hit with a stick.

Ten years on the ‘systems’ merry-go round,

His feet very rarely touch the ground,

A secure unit’s the result of his latest game,

But should Jack B. take all of the blame?

Challenging, difficult and hard to place,

The tears no longer run down Jack’s face,

No-body wants him – they care even less,

This fifteen-year-old boy is really a mess!

Born in the wrong place and given no hope,

At the end of his tether, he tightens the rope,

To lose this young life is a real crying shame,

But shouldn’t we all take some of the blame?

D.Rayner