Damaged Goods

He's handsome, mid-twenties, scrubbed, clean-shaven,
and being the naiph that I am in these matters
I don't realize until later he's on the hammer.
One month out of Grafton, Maitland, and others (three years all up).
"I blew me last old lady away,"  he confides softly.
I'm shocked and he knows it,
but once the details emerge I'm left on shaky ground all the same.
Three years into a relationship in which he has nurtured and trusted,
he returns home unexpectedly to find her with two men.
No questions here - she's having it both ways at once.
This manchild loses it; goes straight for the shotgun.
Tranced and spun he sprays the lot with both barrels.

But it's filled with buckshot. Everyone survives.
With his female lawyer he faces the judge and the weeping ex
when pressed for signs of remourse, says:
"Me only regret is the gun wasn't loaded with proper bullets."
The judge replies:  "You're either very stupid or very honest."
"Me lawyer was havin'  kittens,"  he laughs.
Four weeks out, he's playing pool, drinking at 11:00 am
scoring smack on dole day.
Traumatized and bitter, he spouts 50's values and misogyny.
Under questioning admits he trusts no-one
yet the longing fairly radiates from this troubled boy.
I tell him:  "If you want anyone to trust you, you have to be willing to trust again."
He is silent at this, but I can see it sticks.
His path is a dim one;  I fear for his future.