Husbands. Wives. Churches. Parents. It’s a tricky thing...having or being either which way don’t make much nevermind...but it’s hard to deny them as grows ya, knows ya...
This Be The Verse
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can.
And don’t have any kids yourself.
[...given that Larkin most likely knew about Camus’ early morning musings & didn’t get out as early as, say David Foster Wallace...there’s a little there there beyond the first impression - like all good poetry, I guess. Anyway, where was I...]