Hooligans.

  They approach gradually and noisily,
Shouting angrily all manner of obscenities,
A spectacle that leaves many horror stricken,
And running helter skelter for dear lives,
This is an angry lot,very angry.

The angry lot matches on undeterred,
With menacing faces and bloodshot eyes,
They are clad in identical green jerseys,
Some blowing vuvuzelas and others whistles,
They are an unruly lot,very unruly.

In their wake is wanton destruction,
Pelting unsuspecting motorists with stones,
Mercilessly shattering their car windows,
And pilfering whatever they lay their hands on,
Surely they are an angry lot,very angry.

Many are caught in this angry wave,
Quite unawares and unfortunately so,
Anything they lay their deft hands on,
Disappears,magically,into their gaping pockets,
This is a dangerous lot,very dangerous.

A boy sees them and scampers for dear life,
A scared motorist is in the same endeavor,
I hear screeches,the boy is in the air,
Before landing with a heavy thud,
I am now an angry person,very angry.

They've wrecked havoc all over,
They've caused the death of a boy,
They've wrought untold losses,
All because their team lost a match,
This is a senseless lot,way senseless.

 Poet:Njuguna.