Ode to the Tormentors

Another lunch in the playground,

Hard to expect much difference.

Peanut butter and jam cover my palette,

               Apple juice washes it through.

That exploding star we call the Sun ravages my sight

              Until the clenched fist of all my dread finds my jaw.

Sandwich spewing across the swing sets

              As my foe orders me to my feet.

Will my standing make me more heroic?

              Will standing make him look less bullish?

Will standing make us look like Avengers?

              Will standing make me easier to find for my parents?

Brawl concluded if you could call it that,

              A purplish-blue swell stands in place of my left eye.

Right arm in a sling, two teeth missing,

              People keep telling me I won, I wonder who they watched.

It’s about morals and dignity, they say.

              Perhaps I was passed over when those were handed out.

This won’t happen forever, they continue.

              Why then has it happened everyday since grade three?

Waiting that night after finding my tenured tormentor’s turf,

              Waiting for hours makes you thirst more for a justice never delivered.

Waiting with a wrench, a grip weathered so, my knuckles are raw already.

              Seeing him walk through the door, excitement rushes high,

Until a different monster who should ask what’s wrong

              Beer in hand, uses the other to put him on the ground.

Releasing my vice on the tool, back to the bag I place it,

              Before returning to my domicile, 911 got a tip from me.

I know he may not have done it for me, but that’s not the point

              Even the strongest wolf can be out of place in a shark tank.