The Line


A line had been drawn down the middle of our street. Someone told me it was young Billy who did it, late last night, using some green paint he’d found in his dad’s old shed. It wasn’t a very straight line, far from it, but it would do. As the  sun rose over the terraced houses on our estate we gathered, out of sight, armed with our bricks and bottles. We crouched there silently, each of us watching that green line. We knew, before long, one of them would try and cross it. When they did, we’d be ready.

this lust for revenge
is part of our heritage
etched into our souls


It is a while since I’d written a haibun. Haibun is a combination of prose and haiku poetry.

I look forward to reading your comments

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