Retribution

I remember a boy named John.

He was gaunt,

a rake almost.

His glasses enormous,

an extension of his face.

And when he got angry,

he got REALLY angry.

Like foaming at the mouth angry.

One morning the teacher left the room.

Another boy stole something of his.

He got up to defend himself,

and I stuck my foot out to trip him.

He fell.

Hard.

When he got back up,

we waited for the anger.

But it eluded him.

He sat back down.

After all these years

I see John.

Punctured. Deflated.

I did that. I was the source of

his degradation.

And the embarrassment lingers.

But only for one of us.