FIFTEEN YEARS OLD

My bright ginger hair
has grown down to my collar,
strands nestle on the top
of my comprehensive school jacket,
as I bunk afternoon Maths
to avoid algebra and bullies.

On a twenty pence tube ticket,
I take a trip to an East End park,
in order to experience the liberty
offered by the late spring sunshine.

Strolling through the greenery, I smile,
observing scenes rushing through my mind.
Then I stop to chill out on the bench,
a soft drink from the Co-op in my hand.

Soon I have to heed a natural call,
so I make my way to a small stone building;
the Gents is on the right hand side,
adjacent to the bus stop.

As I enter, the pungent smell
of old bleach hits my nostrils.
A man with a straggly beard,
looks up and winks at me.

I quickly head for the cubicle,
but he beats me to the door,
shoves me inside and presses the lock.

“You’re a cute thing – ain’t ya!”He leers,
while swiftly undoing his flies,
my whole body starts to tremble.

I want to scream out
but my voice is on mute,
as he fumbles for my Woolworths belt.

His cruel hardness presses against my thigh;
I lose control of my bladder,
but he doesn’t mind the stench.

From outside I hear a loud Cockney voice
murdering the tune of a top forty hit;
my left fist hammers the door.

“Oi! What’s going on?” The voice yells.
My attacker opens the door and does a runner,
leaving me to clear up my disgrace.

I come out dazed and dirty,
a man in a London Transport uniform asks:
” Are you alright, mate?”

All I can do is nod,
while heading to the nearest underground station,
the urine still sprinkling down my leg.

© Julius Howard, 10/2/2015

Featured Writer from “Creative Talents Unleashed Writers Group”
www.facebook.com/groups/ctupublishing

Photo Credit: © Donna Sanders