AN: Social-political free-verse poem. What do you take from it?

Two Wrongs


His eyes were wandering
alight and keen.
With a tilt of his head,
the little boy watched
as the new girl entered his domain.

Glinting in molten jewels
of honey, he continued to gaze
as that tiny girl peered
around the play pen,
nervous and shy.

She looked so innocent,
with pale skin and dark eyes,
short locks of fine strands
slipping from the tie—
a hive above her slim neck.

The little boy smiles,
hope seeping into his breast:
Maybe she was a friend—
a companion—
could stay and play.

He had been lonely in this pen,
secluded, alone,
consoled by toys,
and jungle-gym.

His heart was racing,
glinting eyes shifting wide,
he began to crawl near—
pulse puttering
and loud in his ears.

But his strength was great—
the grown ups' worst fears—
for as soon as he reached her,
his seclusion was justified
and his fate was sealed.

But he surely didn't mean to—
he couldn't know
his own strength.
For so long he had lived
all alone in a cage.

He was too eager—
too nervous—
to control his own power.
He jerked away,
hunched in shadow.

Those molten eyes—
pupils thin, erect blades—
tore away from the scarlet
that seeped from her pulled
white skin.

Too fragile—
Far, far too fragile—
To clap next to his large pads,
to run, jump, match
up to him.

But that didn't matter—
none of his ignorance,
his innocence did—
low grumbles escaped his slack jaw.

Shortly after,
those keen eyes watched the adults,
shadowed and sharp,
enter his cage, domain,
gaping and gurgling rasps of shock.

The tall one,
brute and broad,
points towards him,
face darkened and silver appendage
shining and polished.

An accident—an accident!
His plea—a roar to their ears—
falls upon sharp reprimand:
He is kicked to a corner,
into time out for life.

Thank you for reading.