The Row

The screaming curls the hairs upon my neck.

I recognize the shout before the tears.

I, being whom I am, get up to check

to find the scene has justified my fears.

The smaller child is thrown upon the ground.

The larger one has punched him in the face.

I interfere, as lots of blood is found.

The older one I soon put in his place.

The other children gathered ’round to see

have split apart as soon as I arrive,

the perpetrator proud as he could be,

the victim grateful he is still alive.

“They’re brothers!” says my son. “Don’t stop their fight.

It’s not your job to see if they’re alright.”

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