tantrum

his tiny fingers grip the cold metal bars of the cage, inside
of me and he doesn't like me one bit, the angry
boy, strong and boy,
is he smart, and powerful
pouting lips, parted on
chubby cheeks, drawn
taught with rage, tugging
the brow, down and furrowed, into
button nose, creased
and unsatisfied, wanting
more, wanting more,
wanting, more
now. wanting what
he wants, now
he is inside of me, and my
cold hands reach through the metal bars, reaching
inside myself to take hold,
of him and to hold, him
in my hands, and tell him
that though he is small,
he is not unheard.