Friday, February 24, 2012
Just the Beginning
Hidden by the fence and grass,
The boys began to smoke and drink.
Upon their fun no-one would trespass.
Only of fun did they think.
The sky was still blue and clear,
The August evening still young.
Each had a drink of his favourite beer
And waited for more to come…
Walking from the local shop
Were three more boys with bags in hand.
Beside them a car came to a stop:
Driving was the youngest’s dad.
The older pair walked away,
Leaving him with the drink to fend
For himself. He thought of what to say,
And decided: “Blame a friend.”
* * *
The dad knocks at a front door
And his son’s friend’s mother answers.
He tells her the tale that his son swore.
Angry, her heart beats faster…
Six miles away, unbeknownst,
A young prodigy is training.
He kicks the football wide of the posts,
But hears no-one complaining.
… Back at his door, in panic,
His mother searches for car-keys.
His brother cycles through the traffic
Searching the locality.
The grass and fence now hide none,
The circle of trees vacated.
Any traces of the gang are gone,
’Til one boy is located.
Sitting, he is on his own,
Although waiting for nearby girls.
He had been called on his mobile phone
And told to leave the others.
He knew of his friend’s betray’l,
Informed by the friend in a text.
The prodigy, the football player,
Was innocent in this mess.
Relieved, the mother goes home,
As does the brother on his bike.
She sends her son a message to come
Straight home from training that night.
Calm now, she thinks for a while
And considers what has happened.
What kind of friend was this lying chid?
When had the drinking started?
Furious now, the brother
Thinks about the “friend’s” betrayal.
From then on they’d avoid each other
Because of cigarettes, ale.
* * *
Two weeks later, lonely joke,
Sitting alone is the liar,
Wishing he’d one with whom he could smoke,
Wishing he could get higher.
Six miles away, two more lads
Are running and kicking footballs.
To play in the Premiership, they planned.
From this high they’d never fall.