Boys Will Be Boys

Boys Will Be Boys

Long, lazy, summer-time, school holidays,

Feeling frowsy in the long dry grass, so bored.

Waiting, languidly, for things to happen:

The itch for excitement that cannot be ignored.

It’s time for adventure, or some trouble:

Thrills don’t just come, so need to be sought out.

They all wanted to be a part of it,

None of them by cowardice caught out.

Who’s leading, who’s following, who’s daring?

Who’s going to be involved quite fully?

Who’s pushing who to make the first move?

Who’s the scaredy-cat, and who’s the bully?

It’s become a matter of honour to go,

No-one wants to appear the baby child,

Egging each other onwards to the place,

Three boys, scared to hold back, running wild.

The house stands deserted and forlorn,

Behind its barrier of tangled wire,

Its broken windows like empty sockets,

Tumble-down, decrepit and so dire.

It’s a simple target to be raided,

Undergrowth to keep them quite hidden,

Forcing down the old, broken back door,

Past where it says “Entry Is Forbidden”.

Plaster has fallen away from dirty walls,

Damp, mouldy, a smell that’s musty,

Broken floor-boards, glass everywhere,

Mouse-droppings, filthy and dusty.

Here was once the lounge, now long deserted,

A kitchen with many pipes hanging out.

They don’t think about the people who lived here,

Too busy exploring, and running about.

Here is a place with possibilities,

A secret space for a ghoulish game.

No limit to a child’s imagination,

Or the ideas that are in the frame.

A new head-quarters for their gang,

A pirate’s cave, or hidden treasure,

A robber’s den, a secret hideaway,

To torture their enemies at leisure.

But what if someone already comes here?

Beggars, or thieves or a filthy tramp?

How can it be made safe and secure?

How to establish their own camp?

Rooms up above must be inspected,

In case someone else is hiding there.

Their voices fall into edgy silence,

Gathering below the bottom stair.

The youngest one is pushed up to the front,

Nervous and trembling, fearing the worst,

The older ones standing right behind him,

Bullying, taunting, making him go first.

He wants to decline this stupid challenge,

His fear is building, and he feels like crying,

But the others will not let him stop now:

He cannot get away – no sense in even trying.

Then, too soon, it’s spinning out of control,

They threaten him with torture, calling names.

Challenging him, shoving him forward,

It’s gone beyond their normal childish games.

The mood has turned quite nasty,

And the laughter has faded away.

They prod him and push him upwards,

They force him – they will have their way.

He bites his lip, and swallows hard.

Though he is trembling and shaking,

He starts to mount the broken risers,

Fearing the dangerous steps he’s taking.

Near the top, his panic rises,

But he never hears the creaking sound,

As he falls through the crumbling structure,

Screaming, arms flapping all around.

A crashing noise and then the silence,

The dust and debris soon stop falling,

The older boys stand stunned, amazed,

Then for their friend start yelling, calling.

He does not answer, lying there quite still.

They know the situation’s far from good:

They run away in a frantic panic,

Leaving the body in its pool of blood.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2016