Petes Poetry
Fuds Hilton
Three bells to see the day in
It's only seven AM, my heads in a spin.
Quick run to those showers
Damn, too late
Could be waiting for hours
Who ever drops the soap
is the next one out
and if there is a fight on
year 10's usually win the bout.
Next thing is room inspection
the duty masters finds fluff
with X-ray detection.
Then its off to breakfast
to report to your table head.
where the soft boiled eggs were still alive
and the atmosphere was dead.
8:30 off to school we trot
I haven't done my lines
I hope the teacher forgot.
If she remembers
It's off to the trophy cabinet for being a smart prick.
or if I'm lucky
Just a whack across my knuckles with a ruler stick.
"Pull up your socks boy
and make sure your tie is straight."
"I'll make sure next time for class
you won't be late."
The business of turning
boys into men.
But really it was a secret war
between us and them.
Hidden fishing line in pieced ears
were all the rage
and with calculators with memories
who needs a cheat page.
We took Walkmans to church.
We were on no holy grail search.
We smoked, took drugs
We were wussy thugs.
But after school
It was back to the boarding house.
To study all night
and be as quiet as a mouse.
And study I did
I read every issue of street machine.
then wrote to my parents
and told them life was a nightmare not a dream.
But my letters were a waste of ink
either they didn't care or didn't think.
Three more bells
and I was asked too leave
A drug deal gorn wrong
gave me a reprieve.
Pete.
Copyright (C) Peter Riddoch 2004
It's only seven AM, my heads in a spin.
Quick run to those showers
Damn, too late
Could be waiting for hours
Who ever drops the soap
is the next one out
and if there is a fight on
year 10's usually win the bout.
Next thing is room inspection
the duty masters finds fluff
with X-ray detection.
Then its off to breakfast
to report to your table head.
where the soft boiled eggs were still alive
and the atmosphere was dead.
8:30 off to school we trot
I haven't done my lines
I hope the teacher forgot.
If she remembers
It's off to the trophy cabinet for being a smart prick.
or if I'm lucky
Just a whack across my knuckles with a ruler stick.
"Pull up your socks boy
and make sure your tie is straight."
"I'll make sure next time for class
you won't be late."
The business of turning
boys into men.
But really it was a secret war
between us and them.
Hidden fishing line in pieced ears
were all the rage
and with calculators with memories
who needs a cheat page.
We took Walkmans to church.
We were on no holy grail search.
We smoked, took drugs
We were wussy thugs.
But after school
It was back to the boarding house.
To study all night
and be as quiet as a mouse.
And study I did
I read every issue of street machine.
then wrote to my parents
and told them life was a nightmare not a dream.
But my letters were a waste of ink
either they didn't care or didn't think.
Three more bells
and I was asked too leave
A drug deal gorn wrong
gave me a reprieve.
Pete.
Copyright (C) Peter Riddoch 2004
