This is a poem that I wrote back in 2007 for my creative writing class. We had to write a poem about a childhood memory of our own choosing. The teacher gave me a good grade, stating that details were very strong and the short lines worked well.
The story behind this poem was inspired by an actual event that took place during the mid 1990s. But, to let you know, some elements were invented. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.
Enjoy.
BASTARD
My brother has a friend come over
to see our Saint Bernard.
We told the friend
our dog was wonderful,
always a joy.
He shows no sign of fear.
We also show no fear for him,
until it happens.
Before I know it, he is on
the ground.
Our dog clenches him, shaking him
like hell.
The boy is screaming.
My brother is screaming.
I watch with a pale face.
The boy tries to escape,
but the dog is quick.
He is dragging him back, tearing
off his shoe.
Then, my brother jumps in,
grabs his friend
around his waist; our dog
clutches onto him
until they are inside.
Then, it is all over.
I watch, from outside,
the young boy crying in agony.
The puncture wounds
on his body,
and the blood staining his clothes.
My brother sits next to him.
He cries in fear for his friend.
He cannot believe our dog
would do this. My heart
aches with dismay.
I turn to see
the bastard sitting down, cleaning
the blood from his lips.
He looks innocent, he is oblivious.
In front of him, a steel bat lies.
I stare at them both.
I have fire
in my eyes.
WHACK!
"That's for hurting my brother's friend!"
WHACK!
"You run from me, huh? Good!"
SWOOSH!
"You're quick! But I'm quicker!"
WHACK!
"You can't hide from me, bastard! I can
smell you with my eyes!"
WHACK!
"Come on! Let me break one of your legs!"
SWOOSH!
"Hold still."
SWOOSH! SWOOSH!
"Quit running!"
SWOOSH!
"There! Have you cornered!"
WHACK! WHACK!
"Now run!"
WHACK! WHACK!
"Run, bastard, run!"
WHACK!
"Feel the boys' pain, you fuck!"
WHACK!
"How do you like being the victim of pain?"
WHACK!
"Aren't you sorry for what you did!
Do you have in that
fucking skull of yours?"
WHACK!
"You think you have the right to
scar children like that? Huh!
Huh! DO YOU, BASTARD!"
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
I finish
and stand.
Our dog cowers,
whimpering like
the bastard he is
and I smile.
But I am not satisfied.
