Words from the archives #9 Armchair Righteous

Pretty sure this was one was written around 2011 / 2012, when I was back liivng in Horley, have a vauge memory of sitting in my old bedroom writing it. There was a whole second half of the poem (which I've edited out) which was a bit preachy about society chaaging, no such thing as a fair fight anymore etc etc, anyway I throught it was shit so I took it out. Saw a lot of fights growing up but this one always stuck out to me for  perhaps for the reason touched on in the peice. Bystander effect and all that... There's a small buch of these other old poems that I've put up if you fancy havaing a bucthers here WORDS FROM THE ARCHIVES

Armchair Righteous

My body jolted, revolted at the 
sound of a floor grappling guy engaged in a fight, being

kicked full pelt in the face by a 
boot wearing mate of his opponent.

The crack from the contact of boot to face was a sound to induce stomach acid.

The poor guys nose exploded over his white school shirt and tie.

His shriek shook leaves off the trees, as

he curled up in a ball, trying

to protect his face, sports

bag still attached to his back, only

to be booted a second time, in

the same place, by

the guy he was originally fighting with, who'd

managed to wriggle away and get to his feet, only

after his boot wearing mate threw in his foot uninvited.

The surprise in the sound of the second shriek screamed of a man unfairly defeated.

I froze.

Blood had dripped on to the grass verge, where

a group of us were stood, waiting

for the bus, not

knowing where to look.

A couple of screaming girls came running over with
tissues for the wounded whilst the two face
kickers causally walked away.

The fighters were in the year above me at school.

One was a well known rude boy called Shaun, who

carried  way more attitude than weight, sporting

blood on his expensive right Kicker shoe as he walked off.

Dressed in the latest garms, it

was always the bastards with the best clothes.

The other guy with the busted nose was quiet, I

didn’t know his name, he was
always playing football with the dweeby kids, minding his own.

The intervening boot wearing third party, who

pulled the unexpected chair from underneath the wrestling ring, was some

mate of Shauns who didn’t go to my school and wasn’t wearing a uniform.

From what I understood, the
quiet guy was picked on by Shaun, unprovoked,

attempting to inflict the kind of primitive terror only rude boys administered.

To Shauns surprise though the quiet guy put up a resistance.

Afraid to loose face in front of his mate, Shaun

squared up to him, all pigeon chest, arms

spread, head forward; physical threat

Classic rude boy. And

so the dust was upset and they tumbled, as me, and

a whole bunch of others rubber necked with the bystander effect.

The following day after school, Shaun’s

mate happened to be outside again, presumably

waiting for Shaun, only

to be greeted, so

to speak, by

a sixth former by the name of Jamie, who

could more than handle himself, and

apparently was distantly related or was neighbours with the nose
beaten guy, and proceeded to exact retribution.

I hear Shaun’s mate took a bit of a pasting. I

can't say I wasn’t glad.

Shaun on the other hand didn’t show his

face for a few days.

Justice served.

Jamie dished out everything I wish I’d

done but did’nt.