Hero

I remember Nancy in fourth grade.
I was eleven and she was twelve.
She was taller than everyone, gangly.
Her brown hair was long, mousey.
Her clothes were hand me down, poor.
She wore big white canvas sneakers.

She was not pretty or popular
Maybe even homely, a sore thumb.
But one day she was the center
Of a circle of teasing torment.
The kind of merciless torture
That only children and sociopaths
Are capable of, without remorse.

I stepped in, to end it.
I couldn't stand a world where
The innocent and helpless were targets,
Like baby turtles running for the ocean.
She looked at me with gratitude
As the grumbling crowd dispersed.
Chivalry and mercy had carried one day.
The seagulls went away hungry.

I came into class the next morning
To echoing volleys of children's laughter
Like the smugly sneer on a bigots face.
I followed pointing fingers
To Nancy's once white shoes
And saw my name drawn out
In every open space.

But I wanted to be a savior
Not her boyfriend after all
She was strange and different
Good for pity, nothing closer,
Not for me. so I avoided
Her eyes, her
Presence, her
Simple love.

So I can't report her expression
When her hero showed his face
But it brings to mind those turtles
Who are nabbed before the sea
And fly a moment to an incongruous height
Before to rocks go hurdling down
To lay out the once hid soft.