To Back A Bully Down
Fists flew every day, pants tugged down. He’d insist
on taking the chance to use some tease-name, tongue
just hard and dumb. He’d entrance the hallways like rust,
still there, crusted on the pipes. To kill
him, that thrust in all of us, the sin
of rage that touches us, we must love
first; fear, lust, admit our worst.