Weed

We went to Spain with a pot head the son of a good friend of ours, our families travelled together towing caravans driving for hours. Our son was the only one with us, they took their own son, and his friend, although their son’s mate was quite normal their son drove us all round the bend. At night the lads went out together determined that they’d have some fun but Philip, the lad who’s a druggy, would take them where dealing was done. My son Ron and Philip's mate told him that drugs always damage the mind, alas, Philip was messed up already so just wanted to mix with his kind. By day both his parents were lovely but their son gave them nothing but hell, they tried to control his behaviour but all he would do was rebel. He ruined their three week vacation, there was little that they didn’t try and Haley, his mother, spent hours just sitting alone where she’d cry. I’m writing this poem for Philip to show him the hurt and the pain his habit is causing his family, just what does he think he will gain. No one needs drugs to support them or maybe some think it’s just fun, even those who then stay clean forever can never put right what they’ve done. Ivor G Davies