Hello, my name is Spyk and I run with the Bovver Boys gang. We don’t get up to too much, just a few hijinks to while away the time. We might nick a few apples growing in someone’s garden in easy reach, and we may have on occasion used abandoned shopping trollies in an impromptu race down the hill causing consternation among more normal commuters, but for the most part, we look worse than we are.

We all wear baggy pants, the wider the better, and our hair is spiked and gelled with colour. People often give us a wide berth, and I guess that’s partly why we take the time to look the way we do. We like to look like a group of “tuffs”, even if we aren’t.

There is a code of behaviour we follow; we snarl and grimace and speak in a particular slang that those not in the gang wouldn’t understand. I’ve often wondered why we try so hard to be different from everyone else but then just copy each other. I guess even when you want to be different, there is still the desire to fit in.

The thing is, there is something that makes me different from my fellow Bovvers and I must keep it a secret from them. You see, I love to write poetry and while there is nothing wrong with that, I don’t think it would be really understood by my friends and it certainly wouldn’t fit the Bovver Code.
It’s funny, but for as long as I can remember, I have always looked at the world through a poetic filter. I see something that piques my attention and the words come, flowing with their own rhythm and meter.

I saw a wall and the wall saw me,
We each looked at the other.
I thought that I should climb that wall.
To see what it contained.
The wall just smiled at me.
I wondered if it had been built to keep something in,
Or was its role to keep something out?
And what was so important to be so contained?
And what was so threatening to be held at bay?
Then I understood why the wall smiled at me
And continued my way.

You see, what I mean? It’s not necessarily good poetry but then, it’s not for anyone but me.

Maybe I will grow out of my poetry phase, just as my parents roll their eyes and say that I will grow out of the Bovvers. Until then, I will enjoy my time with both.

Ah, look at that cloud…