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Man and Boy
by
Rusty Broadspear
It was one
of them filthy nights, swirling rain.
I was late out of school 'cos of exam revision.
Mum knew about it, so I wouldn't have to explain.
I was running on empty, hungry; a boy on a mission.
When - without warning .........................
The man's hand was big, hairy, dirty and rough.
It gripped my hand and most of my arm too.
I tried to keep up with his strides, it was tough,
Often my legs dragged, I even lost a shoe.
Never saw his face, his flapping coat blocked my
view.
Anyway, I was crying, lost my voice, couldn't
scream.
My arm twisted up my back and that's when I knew
There was much worse to come and it wasn't a dream.
The night rain made his grip slippy, nearly got
away,
But he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.
His coat smelt awful, I saw wet concrete and began
to pray,
I asked for Superman and wished I was bigger,
older.
Then he threw me face down into weeds and dirt,
Told me not to look; I was cold, I started to
shake.
He grunted and swore a lot, I think he was a
pervert.
Mum told me about them, my head began to ache.
Next thing I knew, there was lights and lots of
police.
When they punched and kicked him, the man cried.
They threw him into a van. It went quiet. A kind of
peace.......
They said I was lucky and it would be best to
forget what happened.
I couldn't, I never have, no matter how hard I've
tried.
It was a lot of years ago - yesterday, I entered my
teens.
The family never mention it but soon the man walks
free.
Mum says they should put his thing in a 'thing
guillotine.'
But whatever they do - sometimes, when it's quiet
and I'm alone,
I still cry stupidly.
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