Here's a rewrite of this difficult poem. Any help much appreciated. Thanks in advance.
Man in the Park
My two short-trousered pals ran when
the young man called out to us,
more experienced than I was (afraid
of fireworks, the sea). He stood
head bent by the rusty fence,
ginger brylcreemed hair, stink of
cologne, flashy tie. With
a low voice, he coaxed me
to touch -- "like milking a cow."
Somehow, my parents knew --
I lay across my bed, felt
the sting of Daddy's belt.
I'd thought evil was ugly trolls
under bridges not guys with
gaudy ties, stinky cologne;
I later heard that blokes preyed
on children in parks, in local
alleys. I'd been warned about
strangers but no one told me
what they'd do to me. The copper said,
"Tell me in your own words--"
A boy should tell the truth,
not go to the park. Rusty railings,
poplars where I hunted caterpillars.
Christopher T. George
The Monster. . . the Mystery
I want to bury the memory, walk
out on the movie of my life,
leave the cinema for ever.
The young man in the Liverpool park:
ginger Brylcreemed hair, stink
of cologne, noisy silk tie.
My short-trousered friends ran away
but I lingered. He spoke to me.
What happened next?
Somehow my parents knew about it --
bad little boy! The police station,
the sting of Daddy's leather belt.
Evil was ugly trolls under bridges
not guys with bright ties, bad cologne.
Later, I would know that men approached
little girls and boys in parks,
in local alleyways. The constable said,
"Christopher, tell me in your own words--"
Children should always tell the truth,
shouldn't go to the park. Rusted railings,
trees where I hunted for caterpillars.
What happened? I still want to know about
the man -- but don't want to know more
about The Monster. . . the Mystery.