Everyone remembered the scream.
Red hot pain on cold white walls.
That was the end of Toby.
He was fourteen, wore orange Garfield glasses.
The girls called him cabbage head
But he came back bigger,
A juicy yellow crown on his hand.
The accident was all we would chatter about
How hot was sulphur? How hot?
444 degrees. Woosh, There it shone. Gold.
His mangled hand raised like a beacon
Of suffering, guiling the class.
It was divinity. In the playground
We told stories of the sound as the liquid hit his skin
Like Alien’s acid, burning through steel.
Then his scream, primal from a nerd’s mouth.
He then ran it in ice water, tempering his fist.
What temperature does sulphur boil at?
The temperature of hell. He would pace
The science corridor, ogled at by first years.
Their goblin faces shining up at the boy
Who ruled science.
Comments
raysawriter | February 11, 2008 - 20:32
Welcome to the site
Performance poetry is an art form that I really enjoy and I like your stuff.
Have you ever been up to Edinburgh?
There are a couple of ace venues and they do the slam stuff.
Hope to see more of your poems
p.s. It's usally 3 a day max
Ray
ivoryfishbone | February 12, 2008 - 09:19
Come and perform at Leicester's Spoken Word night - Word!
It's on the first Wednesday of the month and always looking for new talent.
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=3112820382
Sooz006 | February 12, 2008 - 12:28
Brilliant ...
I'd just alter the line ..that was the end of.
I thought he'd died and then was a bit disappointed when he came back.
Or maybe he did die ... Id like this clarifying because I'm going to spend the rest of the day wondring if the boy walking the corridors with his sulhpor becon mitt is real or appirition.