The scrambler bike kept coming,

the noise of a jet plane flying along the Linacre Road

signals war at the one a.m. backfire

and the generals in the quivering boots

make sure that the troops on the ground

are then told to remove their helmets on the count of three

and let the special beat try and detain and interrogate

the fast moving squadron disturbing the peace.

 

The soft rubber tread grips the road and the black spot

where the light should blaze

is all too easy to imagine but it’s too late

for someone as eventually the jet plane’s pilot

takes out life with unfriendly fire

and whilst the safety of the pilot is assured,

the blood stained red carpet awaits some

poor soul.

 

The generals upon high, in council of war office

search for answers but their powers are only enhanced

to issuing a declaration that makes Chamberlin’s

appeasement seem like the storming of the Alamo

or the rooting out of Communism by asking,

have you ever ridden a scrambler bike at one a.m.

 

Remove your helmets boys, for the man on the machine

swears by the feel of open air hitting his half-covered face

and the blank eyes of teenage martyrdom

ready to speed, getting faster, and with the decibels rising

as the smoke of a single half puffed dragon

speaks its mind-exhausted.

Take the helmets off, stand to attention as the jet-plane

rides past and takes aim at the civilian ready to bleed

casually.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015