Full circle
I saw him leave a pretty girl
and walk
over the road
for round
two
carrying the
gravity of a grown man
but still
with a youth’s speed
and adding a
corporal’s stripes.
I said to my
girls, Just walk on. Go!
Which they
did, for the first time ever,
without
question or complaint;
their female
antennae sensed
the danger
in my voice
as I saw in
my mind’s eye
him back 10
years and inside a circle
of part
shocked, but mainly thrilled, pupils
punching the
shit (and dentures)
out of Mr
Porter.
And curing
him forever, I’m fairly certain,
of his
famous facetiousness.
I tried not
to look hostile or too afraid.
He noted my
girls who had stopped
at safe
distance and were watching.
Clearly
understanding the intention
and my
expectation of, at 51 years old,
another
fistfight.
Excuse me, Sir, you won’t remember me, but…
I remember you, Williams.
I just came over to tell you, Sir,
you were right and I want to apologise
for my behaviour back then.
Seemingly, the Army finally did what I tried to do.
Well, I’m glad to hear that you
are keeping out of trouble?
Well, sort of, Sir. I’m putting it to
best use in the boxing ring.
I’m Northern Area Army Champion.
And so, we
chatted for a while
his
girlfriend was brought over
who turned
out to be his fiancée.
Congratulations
were given and
had I not
been with the girls
I would have
suggested a celebratory drink.
Never was
one warranted more.
Removed from
his angrier younger self
he had
become a personable young man
and hardly
carrying menace, excepting
a physique
which suggested
the ability
to prevail.
30 years of
teaching and every day
a fresh
lesson, and this the best.
A kid just
not kitted out for school
who finally
found his feet when
he found a
better use for his fists.
Bad boy made
good, my own tiny role
a
justification for tonight’s whisky.
This poem is a true story. And it is a story that is nearly always true about a pupil, no matter who they are; time fixes things.
This is from my Queens of the Reich which is linked above.
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