Lessons

Quiet
As only a smelly-socked room
full of children can be
in collective shock, each thinking
silently
in gaping, dry-mouthed horror
I'm so glad this isn't me

Sitting cross-legged, raw bummed
gawping
excited, pretending to look at my shoes
while eyeballs can't miss the show
Rather here than in lessons
having to listen

He's bent over, trousers down
pants showing, the shame!
a superhero then, shinnying up a pylon's leg,
monster climbing frame
as it trekked across country, chained at the wrists
the ankles, the neck

Is he going to fetch a cane?
Or a cricket bat?
But he uses his hand, deliberately held
hard and flat
like he's playing ping pong with it
A long,
cruel pause for dramatic effect
and -- smack

A hundred necks stiffen
But I'm vaguely thinking
it didn't look like it hurt much
And in the playground later
a crowd in the centre, our new smiling friend,
swaggering,
says that it's true, and he'd do it again