Playground Bully

Sure, scraping knees is second nature when you're in sixth grade.
but this exhausting, lifelong trauma's not an even trade.
My father said to kill your fear and you won't be afraid.
And that is why I wish my playground bully dead.

His terrorism signed a check that spelled my certain doom.
I ran and hid, and prayed to God his head would go kaboom.
I shiver still, each time I step into my Fruit of the Loom.
I rue the days he pulled my briefs above my head.

Wait, I’m a fully grown man
who drinks, pays rent, and drives a car.
So what’s the deal with this childish urge
to leap across the bar?
Would bloodshed bring a brand new day,
the salve to soothe my scar?
I’ll never quench this craving from afar.

I’ll take this chance to taste revenge and bring him to a knee,
to end my adolescent ills set this young man free.
Maybe on his way out, he’ll walk into my SUV!
Today’s the day they find my playground bully dead.

His future’s cloudy, fraught with worry, dark as night, and grim
Perhaps he’ll “slip” and break HIS neck out on a jungle gym!
I’ll throw him on a bus to mommy with a missing limb
and swap his Brooks Bros. for a body bag in- stead...

Mom? Wait... he has a Mom!
She probably read to him at night to keep him calm.
Boy... he's someone's boy!
It'd probably break her heart,
so how can I destroy
a love as pure as that of a mother?
One determined to smother all my hunger to kill.

My mother taught me how to walk in someone else’s shoes,
to understand their point of view and follow all the clues.
And, though it’s tough to swallow pride, I know what I must choose.
It's time to bring this bloody feud unto an end.

I never would have guessed today I’d run into Jerome.
But after going over mem’ries with a fine-toothed comb,
I think, at last, it's time to share a drink and say shalom.
I will not rest until the playground bully is my friend.