To All My High School Bullies I Have Hated
on welfare with a girlfriend and
kids out of wedlock.
as janitors, mopping up puke from the floors of
is your mother?
breathes down your neck
going to college,
tools in the middle of the driveway.
grows tired of supporting your asses,
your beds, wiping up your piss
the rim of the bathroom toilet.
are tired of coming home
your crotch full of crumbs from
remote control that hasn't switched
since this morning.
sits the bags of grocery on kitchen counter
asks, "Have you been looking for a job?
know there's a ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the door
Yates TVs and Radios. You need to go apply,
can't have no grown man sittin' up in my house
not work. You hear me boy?"
say nothing as channels are turned.
the time I was minding my own business
you threw textbooks at me,
spitballs when my back was turned?
wanted to pull you all from your assigned seats
jean jackets and bash your skulls beneath
your faces, puncture your lung
my two middle fingers,
your hi top fades and Jeri curls
a karate kid kick.
was dying to set you on fire in your rayon shirts,
you till black and blue with fat rat shoestrings.
I wrote about you guys in journals.
Bobby Howard is an asshole on
the walls of bathrooms.
the ill communications of
Eldridge James Sucks Donkey Dick above
For good time call Genny.
into junior high fights,
in the face I was too embarrassed to show.
it into soap operas until the laughter died down.
wanted to be Rambo with machine gun arms
the shit out of Andre Buggs,
Dempsey, Phillip Lowe,
my lunch money in the greasy face of
cafeteria lady who never gave me enough applesauce.
better hope I don't see you on the street,
if I do, I'm gonna run you over,
your bones and spitball straws
the tires of my silver Montero Sport
the black leather interior.
You in pitch black Chuck Taylor's,
khaki's cuffed at your ankles,
see you gazing at girls.
Stare at your lips smeared with ChapStick
make me fetch your shoes,
wash blood and snot off the collar of your shirt.
I think I see myself in your autumn eyes
fixing my hair.
Check for roast chicken between my teeth.
You have the arms that have held a million girls.
Hands rip off purple panties, that slither
beneath bands of a million bras.
I want to be your cold-blooded girlfriend
beneath electric blankets
who leaves you defenseless, naked,
in a doublewide bed at Motel 6.
I'm just a queer.
A love poet prankster,
a bundle of sticks at your
pitch black sneakers.
Allison is the author of five chapbooks of poetry. His sixth book, I Want to Eat Chinese
Food Off Your Ass is out from Propaganda Press.