Remember Remember

A bullied teenager reflects on his life

 

Sitting on a swing, he blows smoke rings into the frost

The damp cigarette his last, he checks his pockets for more

Fumbling fingers explore emptiness, no funds to bear the cost

Of another of his “abhorrent habits” he tries hard to ignore

 

Thoughts of nicotine supplies are blasted by his father’s call

“Guy! GUY!!! Kick the f**king ball back, you idiot!” he barks

He pulls his awkward body forward and lumbers to the ball

And kicks wildly to the sound of sniggers and bitchy remarks

 

His cheeks flush, sweat trickles, anger rises in his throat like bile

His father looks at him, his face a blend of disgust and disbelief

Then he turns swiftly and dismissively towards his team, all smiles

“Useless idiot,” he quips and the team laugh cruelly with their “chief”

 

Sixteen years old and he still hasn’t learned how to respond

He wears his pain like a badge and no longer bothers to converse

No hope of father/son connection; they have gone way beyond

The point of no return, no possibility or hope to reverse

 

He fingers his swollen cheek, a painful reminder of his “gift”

The team kindly decided to “present” to him after last week’s game

Away from prying eyes, down in the subway, heading to his shift

They cornered him like a frightened dog and left him black-eyed and ashamed

 

Limping home, he arrived to no sympathy from “Coach”, no offers of protection

Instead, he bestowed his own fatherly gift to his son that night

His battered ears heard only abuse; his splintered heart suffered only rejection

Bruises on bruises, his soul withered and began to give up the fight

 

The following night at his shift, he was greeted by his only friend

Robert; the only glimmer of hope in his dark, insignificant life

A south-London boy, well-connected, confident, “on trend”

His roots firmly planted in a suburb where gang culture was rife

 

Robert left him with clear instructions; “It’s time to fight back!”

“Take no s**t from anyone!” New confidence he then found

Later, a habitual “snooper”, he shamefully rifled through Robert’s pack

For a keepsake from his unknowing idol; and his whole world turned around

 

Smoky rings hover again in the frosty air as he pulls his hoody tighter

He thinks ahead to tonight’s “Team Firework Party”; a wry smile appears

It is time to even the score, he thinks, time for me to be a fighter

And put an end to “The Big Game” and let go of all my life-long fears

 

Invisible once more, he turns his back as if in final surrender

And begins the long walk home, to return to his new, exciting toy

The toy he stole from Robert’s pack, an aptly-named, “Colt Defender”

The gun of a man, a warrior, “the brave”; he would no longer be a boy

 

Later that night at the mirror, he searches deep into his reflection

For visible change, but finds just acne and stubble, no sign of new-found strength

One hour’s countdown to “party-time”; when enemies will form a collection

And, no doubt, join his poor-excuse for a father to ridicule him at length

 

But remember, remember, the fifth of November

There will be more than fireworks at the party tonight

Keep a close eye on the outsider, the “weakling” not allowed as a member

Watch your back! He is ready and able to fight

 

The “weakling” finishes combing his hair and pulls his coat from the hook

He tucks his new toy into his pocket and zips up his hoody as “cover”   

And turns around to his bedroom once more, to take just a final look

At a room that now seems alien to him, as if it belonged to another

 

He steps into the chilly November air and catches his breath

Walking ten feet tall, all-powerful, he feels nothing but purity and bliss

Footsteps on air, he is reborn into life, no fear of pain or death

Without a backwards glance, he heads into the beckoning abyss

              

Game Over

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[James Paulin]

Quite a poem! I felt the humiliation and anger that led to a bitter reaction. I dont understand why so people are so abusive to vunerable children. A similar story is told in one of my favorite movies "Simon Birch" but with a different conclusion. You have written an intriguing poem laced with emotion, metered and rhymed, and punctuated with violence. Bravo!