“He was born under a bad sign,”
the people stopped and whispered.
No one stopped to help him though
or partake in his share of blisters.
More spectators stopped to watch,
laughing when he slipped.
They ignored his frustrated tears,
hissing when he was whipped.
Some pulled out their cell phones,
recording the beating till the end.
They wouldn’t show it to the cops,
just their family and closest friends.
The strikes he took were fierce.
They made him bite his tongue.
“Please help,” was in his eyes,
beseeching everyone.
The smiles began to disappear,
and the spectators did as well.
The blows he’d been receiving
had finally begun to swell.
The men spit on him and cursed,
giving one last kick to end their fun.
And bleeding from his nose and mouth,
he asked them what he’d done.
They laughed at what he was
then stooped and stole his bag.
“You didn’t do anything,” they told him,
“we just don’t like that you’re a fag.”
Koyotee Laughing 