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Poetry

The knock out punch

March 7, 2005
iranian.com

It was 1980
It had been seven months
Since the hostages were taken
I was a new comer
I was sixteen
Going to El Camino High
In Sacramento

One day
This creep
Who I hardly knew
Looked at me with contempt
As I passed him in the school hall
He then called me:
'You fucking Iranian'
I stopped to complain
But he was ready to fight
Others stepped in
They separated us

He then said
If you are not a 'pussy'
Meet me by the football field
After school

There I was waiting for him
I thought maybe we could discuss things
But I was mistaken
He showed up ready for a fight

I saw a punch but never felt it
Next thing I saw
Was the dark night sky
Two or three hours had passed
There I was lying on my back
On the grass
I tasted the dry blood on my lips
I got up, picked up my books,
And I went home

Oh, yes. I learned a lesson:
Sometimes in life
You must not only pay
For your own sins
But also the sins of others
And you may protest
But you won't be heard

-- Rotterdam, Netherlands

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