Some sort of hero I am not,
Though his insults were hard to take,
But I felt myself growing hot,
And my anger I need not fake.
Now, I ain't a kid anymore;
Hell, who am I kidding? I'm old.
But this punk I'd have happily floored
When at my collar, he grabbed hold.
"Come on you big chicken let's fight!"
He boldly screamed, inches from my face.
Oh, how I'd avenge this brazen slight -
The punk I'd have gladly erased.
But no, I turned and walked away,
While of course the punk grew boulder.
"Perhaps we'll fight another day,"
I smiled back over my shoulder.
For it takes more courage to walk,
And this victory I knew I'd won.
But in my youth there'd have been no talk,
No sir, instead o walk, I'd have run.
From Poetry for the Potty
Top of Page
Back to Memories