poetry

Punch-up

Wednesday, March 28, 2018. Daily Brit Wit.

Punch-up: 

Noun, informal 

A disorderly bout of fighting with fists; a brawl.

 

“Blue limelight falls on me, echoed in silver

as the moon shines its shame–

my face is tingly and numb

and I do not fancy

I’ll ever get up from the pavement.

 

Rip open my chest

fingers stretching along ribs

caressing, smoothing, preparing

to separate, tear asunder

settle in and pull, yank, rip

me apart

trust me: it won’t hurt a bit.

I have been steeling myself

for the pain,

perhaps it’ll make me forget

the agony my cheeks and nose experience

(oh wait, I think my right eye

is caked shut, too)

watching as russet blood-drops fall

in symmetry

marking their crime scene–

an absolute delight we’ll leave behind

the ugliest of pestilence

that the world cannot ignore.

 

The evening certainly didn’t appear

like it would turn out the way it did:

a boisterous night

with my mates down at the bar

ingesting harmless pints

one after another.

Then the night becomes a blur

and I’m sure

it all went amiss–

 

Now here I am

flat on my back

because of a nasty punch-up

blearily star-gazing

and squinting up at the moon.

I can only hope

come morning light

the memories will have faded completely.”

 

© The Loyal Brit Wit, 2018

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12 thoughts on “Punch-up

  1. Scary scuff-up under lamp light! Of course I usually run away at the first sign of trouble but your writing had me hanging around and my pulse was raised. Hairs on back of neck raised!
    The variety of your writing never ceases to amaze me….
    knock, knock…
    “Who’s there”?
    Me… coming over to give you a hug! 🤗😊❤️

    Liked by 2 people

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