BULLY

We had this club, and you were in it

and we kicked around with stones
in our pockets, and twine, and tied

things to other things, and once
when I found a pebble in my shoe

walking down by the river
which I knew you had put there

I mean the pebble

I stole that stupid bird you were holding
in your hand, untied its wings.

Josh Wallaert, “Bully,” New Orleans Review, Vol. 32 No. 1