BILLY THE BULLY

 

BILLY THE BULLY

 

Billy the bully lived on my street,

And whenever he needed a little retreat,

He’d shake me down hard for whatever I’d made,

Then hang me upside down till I paid.

He’d steal my allowance and beat me till blue,

Then laugh through a snort like villains do.

With monkey glue sticky and wickedly runny,

He’d glue my hands to my ears for fun— not funny.

I’d tell my poor mother, “He’s at it again!”

She’d sigh and dial up Billy at ten.

She’d threaten a lawsuit in stern monotone—

From the safety and warmth of our kitchen phone.

This lasted until I turned ten years old,

When fate intervened both fierce and bold.

Patsy the Pusher moved onto our block

And shattered his kingdom like splitting a rock.

At ten years old and built like a tank,

Six-foot-three with a temper rank,

Mean as a bobcat fresh from the bush,

She ended his terror with one solid push.

She snapped his foot bone clean in two—

A lesson in pain Billy finally knew.

His reign of terror met its doom,

Face in the dirt and ego in gloom.

And I, being quick with survival’s knack,

Stepped right in and secured my back.

I befriended her first— a tactical ploy,

Then married her fast— smart little boy.

And here we stand, years later, unstuck—

Or perhaps just wisely, permanently stuck.

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