by John Grey
From my favorite bench,
I watch some kids
playing in the park.
They’re all as big
as I was at their age
except there’s one boy
who’s much bigger than the others,
a Gulliver in Lilliput.
He’s over six feet surely.
His friends are all
four foot something.
He must weigh
over two hundred pounds.
And, with his muscles,
he could lift two of his buddies
like a barbell.
Yet, when they resort
to roughhouse,
he holds back appreciably.
In the midst of horseplay,
his size is like a punch
permanently held.
He knows his own strength,
I imagine,
and doesn’t want to use
it as a weapon.
He’s in his body
but only occupies
a small part of it.