WITTON THREAT... (My poem about leaving Aston Villa's stadium in the 1970s...)

 Witton Threat…

(Following an Aston Villa match…)

The disturbing silence promised trouble.

An air of expectancy made one’s head turn.

Human taunts.

Milling groups hovered

Ready to pounce

Upon herded, guarded aliens.

Equine police trotted alleys

Amongst ranks of bellowing creatures,

Pushing and turning,

Trying to get a glimpse

Of the obnoxious red and white people

Awaiting mass-shipment…

A bottle exploded into a shattering array 

Of sworn responses

And muffled, almost innocent

Complaints at strained lawmen.

Horses twisted to gain access

To a detached unit

Of moronic sheep.

A girl uttered laughable criticisms

At some distant peacekeeper.

Vehicles, en masse, added obstacles

To the spectacle

Under the bridge

Watched by local shopkeepers

Bemused by this misplaced aggression…

The seething snake of human insult

Slid slowly through the station gate, 

As bounding, leaping simpletons

Excreted their misguided victory cries,

As if their inane presence

Was forcing the gradual disappearance

Of this horde of verbal garbage.

One powered a glance of hatred

Across the glass-strewn road,

Towards a fist-thrashing,

Filth-spewing enemy

And he was glad to be returning 

To home territory,

Temple bloody,

Appetite satisfied,

Mouth wet

With excitement

And verbal excrement…

Pete Ray

Late 1970s and leaving Villa Park after a match, 

having to pass Witton Station where opposing fans awaited access to their train.

They wore red and white…

Some moronic Villa fans nearby felt that the 

similarly moronic horde was fair game for a scrap, despite the presence of mounted police.

I got through the demented chaos, watchfully…