Nettles

He sank into their calculations

And snorted on the stench

Of their arithmetic.

Looked for the boy who was hanging his head low,

More trophies than ideas. To follow their pretence.

With a scowl in his pocket and a smile on his face

He followed with obidience

And fell in the Nettles.

Afterwards those spikey whispers said he bought his own rope.

And skipped the bits they loathed.

Didn't scramble to find a dock leaf to capture back our hope

To advice his mind had closed

He lost all of his footholes.

He was a toothpick!

And the garlic and the cinder upon the path

Had failed to blunt or hinder the slow collapse

Clinging to the doorframe he was dragged

Off to a reminder of where he had been.

With a smile in his pocket

And a scowl on his face

He had nowhere to flee

So sat content in the Nettles.