Marilyn Higginson, Early Dawn, Oil on Wrapped Canvas, 24″ X 30″
I Let Her Think I’m Someone Else And We Continue Our Walk
Behind the gym I pause and rub
the chipped stone
windowsill. Her question, cadenced to the tempo
of the tennis game behind us, probes the sixteen-year-old
I cover with a smile
as I try to explain
the taunting voice
go-fuck-yourself!
the bully striking first
and my hurt flailing,
threats,
curses, insults.
I ducked
and my fist connected
and through suddenly quieted nerves
I saw his head bang
the sill, watched him slide
down the building side
that I touch
as I did each day for months,
drawing from the blood that dried there
a passage into this world
where grown men
equate luck with guts.
____________________
Robert Joe Stout