Stained Glass

A blood pin-prick splayed between glass
He leans towards it, breath licked in tight

Mr Hutton drones on
The latent smell of gas from boys and Bunsens
9A muttering
A disco, cigarettes, crisps

He sinks his eye into the cradling cup of the lens
Line of sight straitened to these crimson whorls
An enigma, code, map.

Lucas next to him chews and shuffles
He only likes Science with burning tapers and sudden bangs

Peaceful as snowflakes
The blood sits, a silent stain

At home, his mum tries to cheat the meter
Smoothes her slip
Uncle Ted lets the back door click shut.

The blood speckles and flowers
Like a crime scene in miniature
He pictures his outline chalked on the ground
Like on TV
A sketch of a boy, mid-flight.