So you think its Stephen? <br />Then I'd best make sure <br />Be on the safe side as it were. <br />Ah, theres been a mistake. The hair <br />you see, its black, now Stephens fair ... <br />Whats that? The explosion? <br />Of course, burnt black. Silly of me. <br />I should have known. Then lets get on. <br /> <br />The face, is that the face mask? <br />that mask of charred wood <br />blistered scarred could <br />that have been a child's face? <br />The sweater, where intact, looks <br />in fact all too familiar. <br />But one must be sure. <br /> <br />The scoutbelt. Yes thats his. <br />I recognise the studs he hammered in <br />not a week ago. At the age <br />when boys get clothes-conscious <br />now you know. Its almost <br />certainly Stephen. But one must <br />be sure. Remove all trace of doubt. <br />Pull out every splinter of hope. <br /> <br />Pockets. Empty the pockets. <br />Handkerchief? Could be any schoolboy's. <br />Dirty enough. Cigarettes? <br />Oh this can't be Stephen. <br />I dont allow him to smoke you see. <br />He wouldn't disobey me. Not his father. <br />But that's his penknife. Thats his alright. <br />And thats his key on the keyring <br />Gran gave him just the other night. <br />Then this must be him. <br /> <br />I think I know what happened <br />... ... ... about the cigarettes <br />No doubt he was minding them <br />for one of the older boys. <br />Yes thats it. <br />Thats him. <br />Thats our Stephen.<br /><br />Roger McGough<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-identification/
