Oldude he wrote of how bad he felt
as a child not being named
on a TV show on his birthday
no magic worked, again
And it struck a chord of memory
With a deep enduring pain
For the kids who never stood a chance
Of being "in the frame"
For the ignored kids across the land
the ginger, short, or lame,
the four-eyed and the victimised
The bullied , shy , wrong name
the kid whose clothes were hand me down
again and again and again
memory opens up the door
and I too take my place
among those faceless long lost kids
in my own empty space