The prompt for this one was ‘Why?

Photo by David Geib on
We’re buzzing in the autumn air. Not many people out.
Oldies have gone home to bed but clubbers still about.
Why hang around? Let’s go uptown and make our mark tonight.

Hoods up. We’ll stalk the paths we know and have ourselves some fun.
We’ll find quiet spots to take some photos where the tourists run.
You know what time it is? It’s playtime under the streetlights.
Those foreigners don’t talk like us; it’s funny how they sound.
Let’s liven up their evening while they’re visiting our town.
Not tacky mugs and t-shirts, body souvenirs instead.

Pavements throb from basement clubs. We’re moving with the sound.
See the bundle in that doorway? Let’s kick it around.
Then, whooping, dance away again to music in our heads.
Photo by Taufiq Klinkenborg on
See that bench, with those two holding hands?
Smile for the camera boys, while my fist lands.
Kick his head, girl. Aim for goal. And then
Smash ’em, bash ’em. We can post online.
Happy, slappy, dancing on his spine.
On playback we’ll enjoy it all again.
man on bench at night
Photo by SplitShire on
On the ground life ebbing, slips away.
Shouts fade, to seek new unsuspecting prey

Life seeping, weeping blood.
Life valued, honoured, loved.
shadow people
Photo by Pedro Figueras on

About a murder committed by London teenagers who were bored.


10 thoughts on “Boredom

    1. I usually struggle to think of something to write about for these poems, but I’d just watched a documentary about this murder the night before. (The teenagers in question attacked several people on the night this one died.)

      Liked by 1 person

    1. They’d apparently attacked several people that night and kicked a roudh sleeper in a doorway – that one was caught on CCTV. Happy Slapping they called it. Their agreed signal to attack was the phrase “Do you know what time it is?”

      Liked by 1 person

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