Walking Home from School

You were so tough,
so cool,
popping wheelies
on your bikes.
I was easy prey —
a girl
with shapeless hair,
carrying a viola case
with her arms full
of books.

I hope you choked
on the spit
you flung at me.
I was lanky
with no budding breasts
or girlish curves.
You pedaled close
and crowed
Can’t tell if it’s a boy or a girl!
Spit your venom
on my face
-dripping
off my glasses-
then sped away.

When you pedaled off,
shrieking with laughter,
I hope your tire hit gravel,
locked and slid;
that you got road rash
on your face,
grape juice purple
and plum red,
pitted and pulverized.
I hope a crowd
of pretty girls
-with curves-
saw you wipe out
and laughed.

This was a difficult form for me: the invective poem.  It requires you to be angry, abusive, critical and if you can throw in a tirade — that’s a good thing.  I had to go back — way back — to junior high school to find a topic.  Unfortunately, it is a true story and one that scarred me deeply for a long time.  …and one that still carried anger.  Pop over to Adele’s blog to see what others did with this prompt.

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