Dead In The Water

Saturday night, too much to drink, no Taxis in sight

The weekly nightmare runs its course

I weave my way along the empty high street

With a vague concept of home

My bed calls too me

Two youths, laughing, in Burberry

Shadow me


Always ready for an easy mark

I’ve already made them

Outside the club

Adrenaline now washes the weariness

And the alcohol from my blood

They make no move in the well lit town centre

But as my route takes me past an empty car park

And the old canal

They move in

Sharks circling an injured whale

Dead in the water

Mouthpiece and Chummy

Leader and fool

Mouthpiece, cool, confident of his mark

Not as confident as I am

Chummy nervous, swimming in his wake

But the water is deep in the open ocean

And there are many predators

“Give us yer phone an yer wallet”

It is the last thing he will say clearly, for a while

Surprise is a good ally

But training is better

And I have both

The tiny steel baton, only three inches long, my key ring

A momento of Ireland

Not swung, driven

Breaks his jaw

Chummy is long gone, his instincts haven’t let him down

While mouthpiece fumbles with his face and coughs blood

I use the baton as a lever on his wrist

Crying like a baby, pinned to the ground

I take his wallet and keys and throw them into the canal

“If I see you again I’ll feed you to the fish!”

Then home, refreshed, vibrant alive

I’ll swim another day

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jsb87uk's picture

I love love LOVE this poem!!!
Its exactly what its like walking home alone around here too xxx