short fat brian.

when i was a kid
i shot rocks.
& there was always this tiny little shit.
rudy faced, short fat brian.
that's what we called him,
short fat brian.
he smelled like maple syrup
& apparently didn't have a mother
that routinely licked her thumb & cleaned the
caramel apple off his face.
he rode his older sister's childhood bike
& covered the pink racing stripes
with black electrical tape.
we all knew,
but he seemed to somehow
never catch on.
i think that's what bothered me the
most about short fat brian.
i was beyond feeling sorry for
someone that didn't have the brain
capacity to figure out that the people
around him didn't like him.
it just made me angry at him instead.
looking back, maybe he was on to something.
as i get shorter & fatter,
i find myself not really giving a shit
about your opinions of me just like he did.
he was just way ahead of his time
& ours...especially ours.
what a kid that short fat brian.
really taught me a thing or two.
oh,
& i sucked at shooting rocks.