This was a response to last Wednesday's prompt from Poetic Asides - write about cruelty.
He was overweight, wore glasses,
Boys would tease him at recess.
Once they snatched away his hat,
Hid it, mocked him, called him fat...
Then had enough. A wild bunch,
They tossed it on a tree branch.
I was there. I saw all that.
When they left, I fetched his hat.
I smiled, and my smile was lame:
It was nothing, but a game.
I’ll never forget his eyes,
They accused, and they despised.
I was one of ‘them’ – the mob –
That would bully, torture, rob…
My fear to help was their fuel.
I was every bit as cruel.
Live for the Love of it,
The Happy Amateur