A poem by Morten Nielsen (1922-44)

Fate

Chattering cheerful voices that swirled away into the blue...

you were quite miserable, Fatty, though no single one of us knew.

Sweaty fat and thick... Hell though was crouching and sprang

up-ending you and your bike. We laughed at you, the whole gang.

You sat on the bench at the front... don’t cry now, no stare, stare, stare!

when a witty scared substitute teacher asks what two and two are.

Middle school teachers like him salvaged control of the class

by turning it all upon you, who felt a defenceless poor ass.

Finally spring came for us, fifteen with never a care,

the trees stood casting their light over the girls’ silken hair

you came close, cautious and earnest – but all ended just in a rout:

the one who laughed loudest at us was her the whole thing was about.

Time for revenge! Now you’re dressed in cross-belt and high-polished boots,

your pale blue eyes have a gleam, you lift an arm in salute.

With hatred mockery threats a person is able to cope –

But not, no never at all: To be made to feel a dope...

Now you are someone, Fatty! Both party comrade and man.

And if one day we go to the wall, your hand will show what it can.

Ready with knuckleduster to smash my face black and blue,

Your urge now to murder, Fatty, the bad years you’ve been through.