The grip
Am I in a fight?
How did this happen?
Latent rippling neck strength
threatening to u n c o i l
from under my pinioning arm.
'Get them out,' Tara had said
at the death of the night:
a couple of gatecrashers
tolerated in full swing party
now unwelcome.
The merry light in Tara's eyes,
the lankness of the old guy's hair,
no contest. What I saw as shunt,
the younger guy saw as push
towards front door exit.
'Hands off my dad.'
Shoved into outside wall,
my only recourse, execution
of headlock. Used to work
on my younger brother.
But now, on damp Carlton
street at 3 AM, dealing
with beered-up umbrage,
when fingers force apart,
what Plan B will kick in?
The pale girl, my housemate,
is suddenly there. 'He's not
like that,' she says, of me, inter-
posing herself somehow
between us.
Easing off the last
of my unbuckling hold,
Tearaway glares, stumbles
into night drizzle, arm
around his unkempt father.
'Want a lift home?' asks
housemate, Shirl. 'Nah. Thanks.'
Shirl heads for her Vee Dub,
I turn for Tara.
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4.6.14
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