As village boys daring do
The shadow boys, dank on the street-end night,
garner down the unlit back-alleys of evening,
cold and ashes, the bonfire of their village days.
Kazoo-minded of the comb-toothed doors,
closed upon of the buzz of settled,
mumbling, middling, maudlin lives,
they graze the footsteps of the ancients.
they were stepping beyond the edge of darkness
in a bravado of daring do,
a reincarnation of “we are The Boys”,
at the apogee of the bell curve of life.
Gripped by the scaffold of a raucous epiphany.
Toes on the top board, devil-may-care above a
torrent of testosterone, coursing through the canaliculi of their tiny minds;
and momentarily they are mightier than the night.
Although, you’ll note, never too far from supper,
or the wink of the scullery light.