Image courtesy of Cinegate
1.
The corridors the classrooms
crawl space vents
house on top
boys’ roars
a colosseum crushing
down on me
one by one
each one louder than the next
Batty boy Batty Boy! BATTY BOY!
b
a
t
t
y
b o y
The louder the name call
the one that could break silence
swift powerful
as a punch from a boxer
who knocks out his opponent with one hit
the more maniacal the ensuing howls of laughter
And that one boy
whomever he may be that day usually
lower in rank
who achieved this great feat
would be shoulder-nudged receive
arms like hammers swung
around his neck momentary alpha status
I’d duck behind computers cling to handrails
hide on unpopular staircases
live in the suffocation
gesticulating body effeminate demeanour
high-pitched inflection
My teenage years spent beating away an unyielding boomerang
2.
At home I came across a blank video cassette Sebastiane
To this day I don’t know how I stumbled
on such a film in my family home
but I do know that etched on my battered adolescent mind
the chisel of defined muscle
laid up against jagged rocks
softened into tender-made beds
where any head such as mine scrambled
as a Jackson Pollock painting
would be cushioned
calm as windless seas comforted
as one is by the sight of new life in Spring
each touch each fondle liquid yolk centres flowing
into one another
the nourishing nourishing
One taking the other’s hand and leading delicate
as dandelion seed heads dispersed by a light wind
to water’s carnal grip
The film held my hand like a parent holds a small child’s
at the seaside
as they take their first steps into vast unknown waters
Today I dive head first into sea stacks
splay my body over arrow-sharp cliffs
David Hanlon is from Cardiff, Wales, and currently living in Bristol, England. He is a qualified counsellor/therapist. You can find his work online in or forthcoming with Riggwelter Press, Dirty Paws Poetry Review, Into The Void, Boston Accent Lit, Yes, Poetry Barren Magazine, among others.
