Aint' it a shame
I hear them complain
as clouds of smoke
circle their faces.
Tight jacket teens
glare at me
dangerously.
Tallest of the bunch
growls angrily,
"stop looking at me
puke face."
I turn away
but not fast enough
cause mister
tough stuff
has something more
in mind you see.
Stomping over all
indignantly,
he yells
"Hey,
you ignoring me?"
I try to move
faster than him,
but a shove in my back
makes it clear
this is a race
I won't win.
So, I face him.
Two years older,
might as well be
twenty-three
to my early teens.
He pushes me
back up against a tree,
then goes in to punch
me in the face,
but my face
does not remain
in that unsafe place.
So, he hits the tree.
Cursing loudly
with a mangled hand
slows him down,
but doesn't stop his friends.
They follow me
down the street
and beat me till
I am out of wind.
This is were
this poem ends.
There is no
sweet revenge.
Time goes on.
I don't see them again,
and this becomes something
distorted and fictionalized
in these poetic lines.
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 10:11 AM UTC
Aint' it a shame
I hear them complain
as clouds of smoke
circle their faces.
Tight jacket teens
glare at me
dangerously.
Tallest of the bunch
growls angrily,
"stop looking at me
puke face."
I turn away
but not fast enough
cause mister
tough stuff
has something more
in mind you see.
Stomping over all
indignantly,
he yells
"Hey,
you ignoring me?"
I try to move
faster than him,
but a shove in my back
makes it clear
this is a race
I won't win.
So, I face him.
Two years older,
might as well be
twenty-three
to my early teens.
He pushes me
back up against a tree,
then goes in to punch
me in the face,
but my face
does not remain
in that unsafe place.
So, he hits the tree.
Cursing loudly
with a mangled hand
slows him down,
but doesn't stop his friends.
They follow me
down the street
and beat me till
I am out of wind.
This is were
this poem ends.
There is no
sweet revenge.
Time goes on.
I don't see them again,
and this becomes something
distorted and fictionalized
in these poetic lines.
