Coward

A hot, sunny afternoon, after school,

walking home with Mike,

he is a leader; I am a follower.

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At 8, fat, round, pudgy,

round like Charlie Brown,

I wear size “Husky”,

not extra-large.

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Off-brand sneakers,

a plaid button-down shirt,

I stick out in class, just a nerd.

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The kid passes us, on his bike,

riding on the road.

“Get a real bike”, Mike yells.

“Get a real bike”, I echo my friend.

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The kid hits his brakes,

gravel spews in all directions,

stopped, he looks around.

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We stop, then my friend runs.

He lives close by, a few houses away,

Mike’s athletic, he is fast, he makes it.

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A heavy pumpkin, I am running,

I am gasping for breath,

the kid and his bike close in.

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A bright red bike with a black banana seat,

Sissy bars in the rear, ape hangers in the front,

the kid and his bike close in.

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The kid is at least a head and a half taller,

maybe fifteen, he looks big and mean to me.

Wearing a “T” shirt, jeans,

and Red Ball Jets, he could be on TV.

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I take a bad turn,

trapped, a fence stops my progress.

The kid and bike catch me,

my back against the fence.

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“Turn around, turn around” he yells.

I am facing him, fear overtakes me,

crying, blubbering, apologizing.

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“Please don’t hurt me”.

“Turn around” he says again in an easy voice.

I do, he kicks me in the butt and rides off.

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I stand alone, tears on my cheeks

I stand alone, having been afraid

I stand alone, feeling helpless

I stand alone, feeling shame

I am a coward

H