#poem #poetry #amwriting #sketchbook #cane

the salad lay in stripes - in metal trays -
    sweetcorn celery cress
    chopped tomato but no matter
    for within two spoonings everything
    leached with beetroot
even the water in the golden jugs
    took on a pink tinge
        wednesday was not a good day
        for school dinners

on the flint strewn field
legs and arms locked baying
half the school caught and the other to catch
the weakest of the herd jump
three and four to a captive
hacking at ankles
windpipe crushed by an elbow
the knees traitor and yield
then gasping fight
as down they drop
grabbing them kicking them
until the shoulders are pinned
and their it - as you

       while those more nimble
       skip the last few yards
       saving breath
           for the return journey

 it is not the whip of the cane which stings
but the act of bending over the desk
to face those
         who should have been impressed

    only the boys got it
    it was a sign of being a man
    like raps or chicken
if you cried you failed the test
    and next time the penknife would be aimed at your foot
I cried
    not because it hurt
        certainly no more than double pack rap
but because I knew I would get it again
at home for getting caught

you got it because you deserved it
like beetroot on wednesday

the canes lived in the space between the bookcases
each bound at the end with red plumbers tape
    varnished
    linseeded
       the red for a six
       the green for a three
       and the blue for the best
           fronded fraying at the tip through the tape
blue ironic cold anger

the flint was aimed at me with intent
   a flicked wrist
   a snarl on the edge of tears - at my taunting
my reactions were too fast for the stone
    past my ear
       square into the forehead of the girl behind
a boy maybe six
but always the best for a girl

carried like a screaming pig by the neck
we followed at safe distance
    through the pegs
    draw string sports bags - footballers and gymnasts - shaking
like a boy drowning
   or a paper fish in a cracker
he tried to rise
but the hand in his back bent him
and each time he dropped
the blue cane would swing down

     for once
     as we crowded the doorway
         our eyes closed