YOUNG HANDS (SAM BATLEY)

Boredom breeds beasts in youngest minds, Before the booze and heavy buds. Fine lines get crossed, When the size five football fucks off. imagination grips Picking at dirt Snapping sticks Dead arms Deader legs Mundanity Park bench shit Looking for the next fix Out the blue or black A baby bird flies for the first time Whack. Slapped in the face by the innocent Destiny in the hands of two miscreants Flapping on the floor If only it knew what was in store It would have flown the week before Now laying gasping Wings still new Fate decided before it flew, Looked at each other and instantly knew, This chick was the excitement to see them through. In twilight hours Out of mother’s glare Back home sleeping Piled up blank stare Chirps and flutters Gapping beak Within old oak eyes looked bleak. The only eyes staring back Through the incandescent din, Were that of trouble and wry grin Tentative steps Prod and poke Unaware of the feeling What power provokes Tiny hairs stand to salute God like power resolute Fate deciders Fight or flight An eye for an eye In a blind man’s fight ‘Can’t hurt can it’ ‘flew into your head’ ‘mad little bastards already half dead’ ‘fuck it man’ ‘enough said’

Tools now picked Opted for smashed glass Stones the odd twig Equip They administer slow not quick Piece by piece Placed in fragility To the soundtrack of laugh and joke No pangs of shame No signs of hope Took its last breath Blinked Then choked Eyes closed for the eternal flight Shoulders shrugged Marks the end of the night ‘see ya tomorrow pal’ ‘same place same time’ Can’t stay at home Can’t come back mine Boredoms demon perpetuates mind 3 innocent souls Wrong place Wrong time.