GROWTH

A further teenaged disturbance in the street,
But unlike others this one caught up with me.
So there I am with my hands at the throat of a moron,
When I sense another behind me set to strike;
I spin round with the first in my arms
And he takes the second one’s spike.
The assailant looks mildly surprised
Before gliding backwards and flying,
Leaving two smaller goons, who, after
Chattering monkey grunts at each other,
And scratching their obligatory baseball
Capped heads, also leg it.
I drop the trash I’m still holding
Into the nearest wheelie bin,
And wonder if the council’s
Policy of recycling really does
Work on people.