Dna

Weekdays I toiled in honest sweat; weekends were for the blokes down at the pub or at the footy, hearing tales and telling jokes. Forget about the wife at home; her nagging only causes trouble. But single girls and alcohol soon burst our marriage bubble. Sacked for my sins and left alone; she screamed enough’s enough. So I showed her the open door and said I couldn’t give a stuff. Kids and her were off to Mum; my troubles now were nought, ‘til an agency was ringing me - the one for child support. Thirty-four percent they said drove me to a blinding rage! Add this to rent and power; it damn near stole my wage! There’s nothing there to compromise, for anything I need, ‘cause those mongrel public servants had my money garnisheed. For years that mob have hounded me, but my kids are doing fine, with their fancy toys, designer clothes, not like the rags of mine. Their diets quite attractive too, not like the health foods of my ilk … seven days week-in week-out - boiled rice and powdered milk. Now my phone’s cut off, my heaters bung; I just afford the power bill. So I wrap myself in ‘skinny’ blankets and I watch the ‘telly’ ‘til Ray Martin fixes up the world, where I find it hard to see, that anyone upon his show is now worse off than me. But on the screen of doom and gloom, sat another bloke in strife. That child support mob struck him down destroying too his life. He’d forked out many thousands before discovering with dismay, he’s not the Father of the child. This was proved with D.N.A. Could I too have been stitched up; those kids may not be mine. There could have been conspiracy leaving me to pay the fine, I may not be their Father; D.N.A. will prove I am or not, and if by chance I’ve been cuckold I’ll sue the bloody lot! ‘How hot can the water get’… I should have shut my flamin’ trap. That bloody mob from child support are preparing for another scrap. Those kids of mine are mine all right; now that bunch of thieving crooks, reckon through my D.N.A - found another twenty in their books.