Michael
Michael was just a boy who would never have any recess
After throwing his apple under the demountables
It’s one bite covered in twigs and dirt
A gesture of protest against his own nutritional well-being
Determined to live off donations of tiny teddies and fruit roll-ups
Or starve himself trying
Michael was just a boy who had a cousin
The pro kick boxer
Boxing gloves, pads and a punching bag
all with the shine still on them
Sleeping beneath posters of grown men in sweaty combat
And ninja turtle bedspread
Michael was just a boy who went rogue with the scissors
Halved paper, halved shorts, halved hair
Halved orange pencil case, halved geography textbook, halved Emma’s long-division,
halved picture of a Jack Russell barking at the adverbs
Stripped of his scissors, scolded, smacked and stood in the hat-room, alone
For the latter half of the day
Michael was just a boy who was last to class after assembly
Who could be seen through the window
dancing to his own bastardised rendition of “New York New York”
Kicking legs timed with crashing cymbals
Flapped hat thrown up and caught again
Not just undeterred, but empowered
By the prospect of the imminent reprimand
Michael was just a boy who didn’t like Maths,
Or English, or Science, or Social Studies,
Or Religion, or Geography, or History,
Or Design and Technology
He just liked Art
And even then
He didn’t like his teacher
Michael was just a boy whose mother knew my mother
Because he and I were friends when we were nine years old
“And how is Michael?” asked my mother, moving her trolley to the side
“Oh…” said his mother to my mother, “Michael took his own life.”
“Oh…” said my mother to his mother, “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh…” said his mother to my mother, “It’s horrible to say, but in the end it was for the best.”
Of what dark God did he take up worship?
What etchings were carved into his unblemished skin?
What twisted path did he stumble upon?
What unsavoury beast were he carrying within?
A sacrifice to appease the deciders?
Or a scalp to fate’s treacherous ploy?
If he were either, it would not matter, because what’s true to me
Is that Michael was just a boy
