Poem for The Read Horse: Issue Four (lust, fist-fights and British seaside resorts).
I went to town to test a theory:
Fist-fights in the 21st C
Are not governed by laws of gravity
But by bullet-time.
I bought a Ben Sherman shirt (baby blue),
Wore shiny sixth-form shoes (buckle too),
Popped my collar, gelled my hair;
Headed to the nearest ‘spoons.
I stared, I glared, I sweared,
I even bit my thumb.
Called some dick a cunt,
A pussy a prick
And everyone bitches;
But it wasn’t till I said “your mum”
That we were in business.
He punched: it hit
I lurched: he bit!
But fast, not slow.
And when my nose broke
Blood spat on my sleeves;
I did not look like Keanu Reeves.
Warner Bros got it wrong.
There were no sound effects, epic song
Or camera slo-mo. It was
A strangled embrace
By D.H. Lawrence.