how we scrambled for seconds

treacle puddings creamy trifles,

tables bespattered with bread

pellets like bullets from rifles

 

we seemed always hungry then

the playground burned it away,

we dreaded chemistry, wanted

fried SPAM and chips each day

 

in here we don't eat so much

seconds not much in demand,

less boisterous too, for silence

usually gains the upper hand

 

there's not a playground either

rare demand for physical jerks

no gym sessions or maths, its

enough if your brain still works

 

no expulsions or  detentions,

for boys transgressing the line

just a caravan of ambulances

only last week I counted nine

 

a smell of boiled cabbage echoes

memories they can never control,

the agency workers watching me

sleep during torch-lit night patrol