Tuesday, 30 August 2011

Night Out

I left them on the doorstep for a good while.
That’d show them what it was like to live slow.
Then I let them in.  Didn’t offer them tea.

‘Haven’t played tag since primary school’
didn’t go down well with the burly one.
Worth a try.  Miserable gits, both.

I stuck my leg up on the coffee table.
Had borrowed a pair of Dad’s old flares.
Looked a right knob.  But needs must.

‘Must’ve been a nasty injury, that,’
said the thin one, tapping the bandage.
I winced a bit.  Always liked Drama.

He unzipped a rucksack, full of tags
for lads not going out tonight.
Lads with both legs.  Ha ha ha.

‘Tag's not too tight, is it?’ said Fat Bloke.
I nearly lost it then, I’m telling you.
‘Can’t feel a thing.’  It was the truth.

‘That’ll keep you out of trouble,’ they said.
I watched them walk down the road.
That’d be Kane, then.  At number 33.

I left the leg in a corner, home alone,
And practised with my crutches in the alley.
Been a while.  Lump in the throat.

No one at the pub had a better story.
Still came home without a girl
but, hey.  As days go, fair enough.

© Fran Hill

G4S sacks pair who tagged offender's false leg
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Fran lives in the West Midlands (UK). She teaches English in a local secondary school, writes, performs, blogs, tweets and tries to resist chocolate.