In my childhood neighborhood
the most frequent phrase in use was this:
“Pick on someone your own size.”
Bullies ruled the playground
at the public elementary school around
the corner from our house
Munching through gardens
along our alleyways,
grapes the finest prize;
trees along the river inviting us to climb,
the railroad tracks we ran beside
to catch a three block ride
to the railway station nearby
required forethought and planning
to avoid chiding voices and threats
to make us fly back home,
imprisoned in a tiny yard.
But, I refused to run and hide.
My mouth became a weapon
to make up for my small size.
I had such foolish pride.
I could outrun nearly everyone.
I had feet that could fly
beyond the reach of baseball bats,
grasping arms and kicks gone wide.
But, projectiles I had not foreseen
the day I took my toddler brother
to swing on swings. I pushed him, oh so high.
The rocks hit us both as I held him close
and sheltered his tiny body with my own.
Then, I flew at the bullies as they laughed
and pushed them to the ground.
“Pick on someone your own size!
have you no honor nor pride?”
They stopped, then shrugged,
went on their way, no laughter, just a sigh.
That was the last day they picked on me.
A glare alone was all I needed
to put them in their place and keep them there,
forcing them to snivel, drop their eyes, and hide.
Whenever they saw me coming
it was they who would fly.
