jimmy legs

there was a kid,
jimmy southall,
who used to sit behind
you in social studies,
in the seventh grade
who couldn't stop
kicking your chair.
he was small, slight,
with beady eyes,
and long dirty
finger nails.
you'd slide your desk
forward, and so
would he.
for the entire
forty seven minutes
he would drum
his hard shoe against
your chair.
giving him an
evil look,
or threatening him
with death didn't
seem to bother
him. sometimes you'd
go sit at another
empty desk, but
the teacher would
force you back into
your alphabetical
alignment. for
weeks and weeks
it went on, until
one day he wasn't
there. days went by,
no kicking, no jimmy.
it was quiet, normal.
almost eerie. you
missed him. you heard
later that he was
sent away to a mental
institution, which
made you feel bad
for telling him you
were going to break
his legs if he
didn't stop kicking
your chair.