Timmy Jones
Draughty rafters, creaks and groans
Is it wind or Timmy Jones
Not in school nor home in bed
Did he roam or lose his head
So much time since Timmy passed
Neither first nor the last
Such reputations can’t be shed
Hard to sever ones own head
Kiss the pistol-tip instead
One shot and the head was dead
Now the blackboard’s painted red
Why he did it, never said
Chief inspector Eddie Shaw
Tapped his foot: a hollow floor?
Damp and mouldy, rotted through
Boards collapsed: inspector too
Dusted down then stared in dread
A skeleton with severed head
Swirling dust a chilling itch
On the wall a double switch
One did nothing whatsoever
Flicked the second, wished he never
A concrete floor that’s widely scattered
Stains suggesting blood was spattered
Fleshless bones with single sever
No skulls to be found... ever
Black bin liner not the norm
A sleeve of this school’s uniform
Ed could not ignore its pull
The bag of uniforms is full
And on a dusty shelf above
His hand now sleeved in latex glove
No more use to fleshless bones
About a dozen mobile phones
Demolish, refurbish, which should it be
The question considered financially
Fix it and paint it and keep it all quiet
But people live long and many won’t buy it
Caretaker shuts the classroom doors
Along those draughty corridors
Speaks not much of what was found
Under God-forsaken ground
But like the school’s a haunted grotto
Teachers chant this eerie motto
In the basement human bones
School kid’s clothes and mobile phones
Be this not misunderstood
Better that you just be good
Or share a room with Timmy Jones
And human bones and mobile phones
Copyright © Terry Flood | Year Posted 2021
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