Night School.(Poem)

 
Night School 
 
 
He was the only child 
of a long-dead mother. 
Father out all night, 
sisters long gone. 
 
He had a delicate way 
of speaking, oddly cut hair 
and so, to us, 
he was a natural target. 
 
His books went missing 
and then his sports-bag, some- 
one burned their name 
with a cigarette end 
 
across the smooth tan 
of his briefcase. 
We shaved his pubes, taught him 
to fold first when hit 
 
and then run. Pretty soon 
he was silent 
most of the time, turning up once 
or twice, with some determination, 
 
to ...