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first memory of him (an edit)
first memory of him
Kids stand
around, a semi-circle as old
as violence, hands in thin pockets
handle the future, watch
a red-haired, skinny boy of eleven -
dirty white singlet, shorts,
spiritless elastic, the crack of a white arse,
the left hand tugs them up
with practised familiarity, stamp
his foot hard against a metal pipe
buried in cement - small metal o, rusted
red lips, a lover open forever
to the gate’s bolt.
We ended up at the same school,
he smoked and fucked
before I even dared to loosen the old school tie.
I remember he broke his leg once, stole
a car, crashed into a lamppost
directly opposite officer Delaney’s house.
One night I watched him
bash his young brother senseless
because his favourite jumper
was stained; the sound of fist on jaw,
his brother’s shocked mouth
spilling blood onto the concrete, eyes
trying to cleanse the blood
with tears.
I heard some time later he was inside,
broke a brick on the head
of some poor bugger late one night,
killing him.
We all knew
it would end badly.
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