The First Punch Revisited

I’ve heavily revised this poem. Hope you all like it.

on a bright, september morning

his mother kissed him

let go of his hand for the first time

hanging in mid-air longing

to be held again before slowly

drifting down to his side

as he watched his mother

fade to grey in the crowd

realising he was alone

for the first time in his short life

in a world of unfamiliar faces,

unnatural bodies, slow motion figures,

orbiting his mind lowryquse

pass by going nowhere

a gaggle of kids stop, stare

his vulnerability exposed

in the sunlight bouncing

off a black mirror into eyes

belonging to distant relatives

he is alone, easy meat for the

slaughter men of the playground

encircling their prey like

a pack of wild chimps

and he is alone in a head of noise

figures pass by, not seeing him,

not hearing him not tasting him

as mandibles lash out

and he falls to the cold,

dark ocean of asphalt,

his body sinks deep

into a mass of hard blackness

rebounding ready for the

next punch as faceless objects

peer down at him laughter

intoxicated by primordial aggression

leering at his overwhelming confusion

tears flow down frightened cheeks

as fingers grapple to

pull hair, redden skin

rip his organs from his

body and eat them

while he watches

then it stops

the bell rings

dividing the air

and this asphalt space

is devoid of life,

no noise, no movement,

no beating,

and he lays on the skin

of the earth

the only sign of humanity

in this violent landscape