the fur collar coat

once, when we were eleven
or twelve
throwing snowballs
at cars
as all our friends
were doing
behind the bushes
at the round about,
a man,
came out of nowhere and
grabbed two or three
of us
by our skinny necks.
he had a perfectly round
red spot
on the side of his face,
a slush
of melting snow
dripped down the fur collar
of his fancy coat.
it looked like an old woman's coat.
he was angry.
smoking a cigarette, cursing.
we all wondered who
threw that one.
who aimed perfectly
through the narrow slot
of the car window
and made a direct hit.
he corralled us
near a pay phone where he
proceeded to call
the cops,
which gave us a chance
to run.
we did, him chasing
after us,
slipping in his suede boots,
we made
more snowballs,
aiming and firing as he
slipped and stumbled.
later, each of us took
credit for the perfect throw,
saying he deserved
it anyway with that coat.