After School Wildlings

They threw rocks at me.

I think they thought it was fun.

I tried hard.

As hard as I could

Not to show signs that it affected me.

Small gravel, like pebbles that would sting for a second.
Bouncing off me as if I were Superman
And not just a fifth grade boy
Larger stones, smooth and irregular shaped
Amethyst like, hitting stronger
Leaving marks and pain in their wake
And larger chunks of concrete
That hurt enough to make me gasp
Bruising to the point that my mother would later see

Then the jig would be up.

Parents would be told.

Cruelty would stop.

Or so they believed.

But I knew them.
They wouldn't stop.
They would morph to something else.
Torture me on the school bus
Sing to me about killing my dog
Stab me with pins

With children

These after school wildlings

Something wicked always my way came.