Howdy everyone!
OK so I realise my last poem was pretty heavy and sad, and unfortunately this one seems to be too! It's just something I started working on about knife crime and gang violence. Only very much in the early stages!
The Kettle
The kettle starts to boil and I’ve come unstuck.
The clock goes tick-tock, more like a slow click….click….click….
Of his pen as he notes down my name.
I’m going insane
And all I can do is to fiddle and to fuss
“Would you like some tea? Sugar’s a must!”
Your voice is too shrill,
I think to myself.
It’s not helping matters,
When all’s said and done.
You and your mates were just “having a laugh”, just “having fun”.
Tap…tap…tap as he opens his case.
Like a nail in a wheel on a bike.
Not like the BANG when she fell.
My right hand swinging thud…thud…thud
It’s amazing how cold you can be in July.
The kettle squeals, just like she did
When I dug in my shoe,
Not sure of the right thing to do.
The mob it makes noises,
Like a snake in the grass.
No. More like an elephant thundering past.
The Policeman is kind.
He must have a pet.
And maybe a wife at home with a young son.
He’s talking about how they caught this young girl in question,
Those “awful thugs” that is… not his young child.
“What did she do to you?”
“What have you done?”
Whispers and pangs folding into my head as one.
It hurts.
But she hurt when out came the knife.
Like a diamond shining bright.
Like a fish in the water of murky dark hoodies.
Like a penny.
Like a wand.
Like a …
Like a….
The kettle goes pop.
So does my head.
I did it.
It was me.
She’s dead.
I ran and I ran.
Not daring to breathe.
The wind it chased me,
Death on a breeze.
Now he’s clicking his biro and writing it down.
The scratch of the pen makes my head pound.
The gang has fallen, the tea is poured.
My fingers are twisting, my heart's like ice.
She’s beside me forever now.
It’s amazing how cold you can be in July.
