My Poetry: The First Fist Flies

When silent blue lights arrived
On forgotten council estate,
I was still crying,
Don't know who called it
Or how long I'd been
In the arms of a neighbour

The clocks had stopped,
IT lay stillborn limp
As the uniforms bound it carefully
Before moving IT
From foot of stair to ward.
You went with IT,
Which confused me more
Than why we didn’t leave.

IT began with shouting
You retaliated in kind.
Then the first fist flew.

Twisted from the blow
The second crunched
Your bone, clean as a crack,
Screams silenced the house.
Screams silenced the house

You bounced from couch
To wall, fist slammed
You to floor, then dragged
You up for more,
Click of kick to nose
Thud of punch to gut
I don't recall the blood.

Time’s not dulled the feeling
Pit of stomach ache,
Like leaning over building
Wondering if jumping
Would hurt— as much as not.
Remember the feeling,
Struck sob dumb in kitchen
Rooted to where I stood
Hugging doorframe to that room,
Old enough to know
Too young to understand

Then the horror stopped

Your punch drunk toes
Moved up the stairs
To wash away evidence
Of another afternoon beating,
But IT followed you there
Like a jackal sensing a kill

I can still hear blunt booms
Like distant battery of guns
As IT fell down each stair.
Then explosive silence
As we waited for the ambulance,
Me hoping IT was dead.