Though born with the build of a bodybuilder,
The strength of a powerlifter and great athletic skills,
I tried to live a quiet life.

I never flaunted my powers or showed off my physique
But trouble always seemed to find me, as though
I was cursed by it.

Some tough guy wannabe would always challenge me to a fight.
I’d say no thank you, but the fool would push it too far,
often striking me, and I would knock him out.

In a bar in Tijuana, Mexico a tattooed Mexican guy walked up to me
And kicked me in the balls. When I recovered, I hit him so hard he
Died in that two-bit bar.

The Mexican authorities threw me in a dangerous Mexican jail, and
I learned the Mexican I had killed was part of a drug cartel, and the
Jail was full of cartel members who sought revenge.

Six of them jumped me and held me down and tortured me with the
Death of a thousand cuts, and my physical advantages became my
Woeful undoing in spite of my never looking for trouble, never
Starting any fights.

Bob Boyd