More than five rugby teams’ worth, of men,
every week, dead by their own hands,
Young men mostly, three times as many men as women,
Nearly 6000 a year, 60,000 over a decade and rising. ….

Using traditional routes to oblivion —
 hanging from a tree, opening arteries, being free with the pills
Or, a closed garages' exhaust fumes:
jumping off high-rise flats, bridges, vehicles, pain, isolation, pain.

With no turning back.
No second chances.
Sometimes with notes, often with not.

This virus, this epidemic, this plague,
this destroyer-of-families, goes mostly unnoticed..
We’re all busy and…anyway…sotto voce…
after all they’re mostly white, working class males:
Not the best qualified for life in our diverse society.

The devil take the hindmost and all that.
Anyway didn’t Mrs T tell us there is no such thing as society
 — greed is good — all that shite.

These rough lads do have their uses y'know
you know the sort, the sort we rely on in war.
the unsung heroes. Warriors. That sort.

Those dragged up in ‘care’,
those constantly neglected, over-represented,
Those who are hurt easily and never show it —
 they too, vastly over — represented amongst the dead
Those who are inarticulate, autistic, bullied — all over-represented too.

And every one precious,And every one a miracle of love,
Every one in need of a helping hand.
Including me.

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