The Fight

Lunch Room Lady holds our arms tightly
dragging us up the driveway
from the playground
Rough hands rub unpleasantly at
cuts on my arms
Glad she's getting blood on her hands.

We who had fought like Lions
mere moments ago,
now lead like Lambs
to our slaughter.

Fists and elbows striking
face, fingernails tearing
flesh, teeth biting
arms, fighting.

When she pulled me off him
I gripped tight a handful of bloody hair
and a tuft of grass, its roots still clinging
in desperation to a clump of soil.

I was pleased to see Mark a mess
face covered with dirt and smeared
blood from his nostrils.

Lunch Room Lady said
"We're going to see the principal"
my satisfaction melted.

Walking on either side of her
but in union now
No longer foes, but comrades
going to meet a common enemy.

-Sean Hastings