Bullies

my truest poem


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Bullies
I first wanted to piss on the system when I was seven
My dad took me to see the Detroit Tigers for the first time
These dudes with guns and blue hats were strutting
around outside the ball park like bullies in the playground
I thought these assholes only existed in school
My small hand grew cold inside my dad’s warm grip
Be glad you’re not black, he said--they get picked on,
beaten, thrown in jail.
By the assholes with guns and blue hats, I said.
Yes, he said--be glad you’re not black
This wasn’t reassuring
I didn’t tell my dad that I got picked on too
I was convinced that the assholes with guns and blue hats
would sense my fear, beat me, throw me in jail
We approached the ticket gate
Assholes milled about
their guns glowed orange with reflected dusk
their faces looked dumb and pissed and determined to kick ass
One of them yelled at a black man
like he was a little boy.
I was a little boy
I prayed to my god to let us pass
and we passed
I told my dad I wasn’t feeling well
We left by the third inning,
We got safely home and I wrote for the first time
a story about killing the bullies on the playground
who picked on boys like me
and killing the bullies with guns and blue hats
who picked on blacks
I was seven and didn’t know much but
It felt good to write about it
I thought to myself:
I’ll write till I have the courage to kill them,
and when that day comes they’ll kill me
but I’ll take a few down
and die happy