Game Of Chase And The Black Balloon Poem by Alistair Graham

We could hide, up to four streets away
on our own, or in twos or threes
The park was out of bounds;
we could hide there for eternity
It was agreed unanimously to raise the stakes
from a game of chase to murder-hunt
As each boy was uncovered, caught,
he suffered a punch, a kick
Not too severe, was just a game
A bruised arm or leg, a blackened eye
an occasionally tear
It was Belfast circa 1978
Of course the captured were not slain
Just children playing rough
It was the grown-ups who killed
We didn't fall out

We gave chase up cluttered entries
flanked by scores of back doors
A coronation-street cat on the yard wall
Bird's-eye view of the kill
Every red stain on the ground
or nearly red
we decided, was blood from a murder
on scene-around-six
or a knee-capping
and the proof could be anything;
decomposed chicken skin, spilled
from a nearby rubbish bin

During the game we'd stop
at the sound of a distant bomb
See a plume of smoke above terraced roofs
The Black Balloon