Gedicht
Vicki Feaver
BOY WITH A KNIFE
BOY WITH A KNIFE
BOY WITH A KNIFE
He was standing in the middleof the field, throwing a knife
from hand to hand: the boy
Mr Marshall brought down
at weekends – whispered
to be let out from a Borstal.
We heard thumps and squeals
coming from their caravan.
I was told to keep away from him.
But I liked wounded things:
a baby rabbit the cat brought in;
birds with broken wings.
As I got closer, he aimed the knife
into a clump of Lady’s Smock,
spearing a frog.
‘Present,’ he said,
dangling it by the leg.
He looked down at my feet:
at sandals I’d woven from reeds
to look like the Roman sandals
in my history book;
at bare toes like a row
of tiny bald creatures
pleading for their lives.
© 2012, Vicki Feaver
From: Like a Fiend Hid in a Cloud
Publisher: Jonathan Cape, London
From: Like a Fiend Hid in a Cloud
Publisher: Jonathan Cape, London
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BOY WITH A KNIFE
He was standing in the middleof the field, throwing a knife
from hand to hand: the boy
Mr Marshall brought down
at weekends – whispered
to be let out from a Borstal.
We heard thumps and squeals
coming from their caravan.
I was told to keep away from him.
But I liked wounded things:
a baby rabbit the cat brought in;
birds with broken wings.
As I got closer, he aimed the knife
into a clump of Lady’s Smock,
spearing a frog.
‘Present,’ he said,
dangling it by the leg.
He looked down at my feet:
at sandals I’d woven from reeds
to look like the Roman sandals
in my history book;
at bare toes like a row
of tiny bald creatures
pleading for their lives.
From: Like a Fiend Hid in a Cloud
BOY WITH A KNIFE
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