04-18-2013, 12:09 AM
Bullies don’t know their own minds.
It’s said that they bully others
to contend with an emptiness,
or some kind of inner struggle.
But that’s just bullshit.
They bully others because it’s fun.
There was a man, back in the days
when Back to the Future was still a new thing.
He could be dead now, as far
as anybody that once cared might be concerned.
A real, good kind of guy,
the sort of guy you could go bowling with
or sit outside with some sunny day
and smoke and just not say anything.
If anybody was dealing with struggles inside,
it was him.
And that’s probably why he was so easygoing
with everybody he talked to.
One night, people were standing
around their cars out in the K-Mart parking lot,
just bragging and flirting and toeing the line;
he walked over and tried to blend in.
This was the first time he’d tried.
He wasn’t seen mingling like that before
though people remembered him from school.
He might’ve liked some girl that was hanging around,
and was looking to talk to her.
But, anyway, things didn’t work out;
he was awkward standing there,
nobody wanted to talk to him.
Before long, he was looking mighty uncomfortable,
and the bullies in the crowd sensed prey.
They started in with the usual kind of talk.
He took it hard, as if he was the only one
deserving of such treatment.
Without being prepared to handle the situation,
after staring at the ground awhile, he walked away
shivering in a rain of laughter.
…
Months later, he was heading up the road,
no real reason, only walking.
Music was coming from a house,
and the same ones that messed with him before
came out on the porch, shouting threats
toward the road.
He’d had weeks to think over
what happened last time.
No more prepared, but simply resigned,
he walked up in the yard,
doing nothing but staring straight ahead.
One guy started down the porch steps;
the type that,
today,
would have thin hair shaved along his jaw
like the thin tube from a douche bag;
and with a smug but drunk look on his face,
tripped and splattered his nose near the bottom step.
Our man started laughing, then shaking
and crying
till he threw up.
Then he started laughing again,
as the others came fumbling down the steps;
though one had the presence of mind
to leap the railing;
all rushed on him and got in his face.
He was crying and laughing.
His chest was breaking out in strange blisters,
and though he tried to speak,
all anyone could hear was:
“Squeak, squeak…”
till his laughter drowned everything.
The others were silent, and backed away;
he went quiet too,
as more came out of the house:
Boys and girls, men and women
of all ages, of all races, of all
opinions and points of view;
just watching to see what he’d do,
as finally he started talking.
And he talked and talked.
He took his heart out, and
put it on his sleeve;
and the people said:
“Hey! why you got your heart on your sleeve,
and how you still talkin?”
Then a blue moon,
the size of Detroit, Michigan,
went behind a cloud;
so all the people forgot what they were doing
and went back inside,
without waiting for his answer.
It’s said that they bully others
to contend with an emptiness,
or some kind of inner struggle.
But that’s just bullshit.
They bully others because it’s fun.
There was a man, back in the days
when Back to the Future was still a new thing.
He could be dead now, as far
as anybody that once cared might be concerned.
A real, good kind of guy,
the sort of guy you could go bowling with
or sit outside with some sunny day
and smoke and just not say anything.
If anybody was dealing with struggles inside,
it was him.
And that’s probably why he was so easygoing
with everybody he talked to.
One night, people were standing
around their cars out in the K-Mart parking lot,
just bragging and flirting and toeing the line;
he walked over and tried to blend in.
This was the first time he’d tried.
He wasn’t seen mingling like that before
though people remembered him from school.
He might’ve liked some girl that was hanging around,
and was looking to talk to her.
But, anyway, things didn’t work out;
he was awkward standing there,
nobody wanted to talk to him.
Before long, he was looking mighty uncomfortable,
and the bullies in the crowd sensed prey.
They started in with the usual kind of talk.
He took it hard, as if he was the only one
deserving of such treatment.
Without being prepared to handle the situation,
after staring at the ground awhile, he walked away
shivering in a rain of laughter.
…
Months later, he was heading up the road,
no real reason, only walking.
Music was coming from a house,
and the same ones that messed with him before
came out on the porch, shouting threats
toward the road.
He’d had weeks to think over
what happened last time.
No more prepared, but simply resigned,
he walked up in the yard,
doing nothing but staring straight ahead.
One guy started down the porch steps;
the type that,
today,
would have thin hair shaved along his jaw
like the thin tube from a douche bag;
and with a smug but drunk look on his face,
tripped and splattered his nose near the bottom step.
Our man started laughing, then shaking
and crying
till he threw up.
Then he started laughing again,
as the others came fumbling down the steps;
though one had the presence of mind
to leap the railing;
all rushed on him and got in his face.
He was crying and laughing.
His chest was breaking out in strange blisters,
and though he tried to speak,
all anyone could hear was:
“Squeak, squeak…”
till his laughter drowned everything.
The others were silent, and backed away;
he went quiet too,
as more came out of the house:
Boys and girls, men and women
of all ages, of all races, of all
opinions and points of view;
just watching to see what he’d do,
as finally he started talking.
And he talked and talked.
He took his heart out, and
put it on his sleeve;
and the people said:
“Hey! why you got your heart on your sleeve,
and how you still talkin?”
Then a blue moon,
the size of Detroit, Michigan,
went behind a cloud;
so all the people forgot what they were doing
and went back inside,
without waiting for his answer.
