Bobby Johnson
We were walking home
from a Halloween party.
Daryl scooped up stones
and threw them at a
trailer truck that rumbled by.
Red lights flashed
with squealing breaks.
A muscular truck
driver leapt from the front,
grabbed Daryl by the
collar,
slammed him against
the side of the truck.
“It wasn’t me,” screeched Daryl,
scared out of his
gourd.
“It was Bobby Johnson.”
The driver let Daryl
go.
We walked home.
A little stunned.
Making jokes
about the infamous
bad boy,
imaginary
Bobby Johnson.
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