When he made
his first personal appearance
in the dirty alley
on someone else's rusty bike,
screaming along
in a cloud of dust,
it rendered us all
speechless and motionless.
But I was amazed
that despite his grey-faced surliness,
he was very affable with us...
the bully with a naive
and sentimental heart.
He was so happy
to hear that I liked his dad,
or that my mum liked him,
and he was welcome
to come to tea
with us at five twenty five...
Our adventures were spectacular:
chasing after other bikesters,
screaming at the top
of our lungs
into blocks of flats,
and then running
as our echoed waves of terror
blended with incoherent threats...
"I'll call the Police, I'll..."
Wicked cahoots.
-
Author:
Carl Halling (
Offline) - Published: November 21st, 2015 09:37
- Comment from author about the poem: Wicked Cahoots stems from an unfinished story written, I think, when I was in my early 20s; first seeing the light of day in versified form in 2006.
- Category: Children
- Views: 44
Offline)
Comments1
I love this. It reminds me of a lad I knew who told me he would take a razor blade to anyone who bullied me if I liked. I was shocked and told him no that was ok . . . His was a very sweet heart in a very tough world.
I'm so glad you like this, Sofwhisper, thanks so much. That lad's loyalty to you was certainly strong; if on the scary side 🙂 Thanks again.
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