The little town had its own “Otis,”
A town drunk,
Generally thought to be harmless.

Went too far
When, instead of sitting on a bench
In front of the only gas station,

He rode the school bus,
Whiskey bottle in hand
Roaring and cussing
As children were being dropped off
After school.

Cowardly bus driver
Did nothing, but stop and call
The chairman of the school board
Took matters into his own hands

Confronted at the back of the bus
Otis lashed out
Fists flew
Fighting themselves up the aisle 

Until both men rolled off the bus
Into the street

My grandfather unhurt,
The blood on his mouth
From Otis’s missing ear.