Poems and Punches

Back in the early nineties I saw a classic school yard fight. A skinhead had moved into my town. He had a different look: shaved bald, tattooed, knee high Doc Martens, and a safety pin through his ear. This dick had been pissing everyone off with some bully bullshit. We only had one black kid in the school (James); so we couldn't figure the point of being a racist s.o.b. in our little town.

We all went down to the caf and asked French if he would be willing to fight the skinhead boy and teach him a lesson. He was like "sure...when I'm done my fries".

Soon after, Skinny the Skinhead and French squared off and the punches started to fly. This was totally one on one - the ethic of that time was no one could step in. Today most teenager fights tend to be at least 3 on 1...or worse.

French and Skinny went into a long punching match. French kept jumping to dodge the big black boots and massive long arm haymakers. Skinny clipped French a good one on the ear; then French landed three quick ones in his the face with beautiful boxing style. Skinny's teeth started to loosen, wiggle, bleed, then fall to the ground. It was eerie seeing a couple of white teeth lying on the pavement. French laughed and laughed; like always - even when he got hit.

As Skinny looked down and held his busted mouth, French grabbed him by his bloody neck and yelled: "knock off this skinhead bullshit".

Skinny walked off alone and everyone gathered around French...but we all had to scatter. Stackhouse the V.P. back then was running out with a couple of gym teachers to break up the crowd.

French bolted, but I caught up with later in his shed. He was sitting alone writing poems with a pen in his still bloody hands.