Chapter 15: In Writing

Wails. She is curled on the floor.
She pushed me first! he says,
upright in his righteousness.

and now the baby is crying
Hurt me! Hurt me! 
pointing forlornly. 

He’s half your size! I say. 

Look at him!
But he stole my truck, he retorts. 

 
Gangly, he towers above the kindergarten, 
Look how strong I am, 

he boasts, 

Yes, I say, yes you are, 

don't say, 

and even when you were two

they called you a bully
as youngest–but largest–
you shoved for your turn.
 
By now she has picked herself up,

picks up the small metal dump truck
and hurls it at him

it smacks his face, 

scratching the corner of his eye.

When he screams,

she rushes at him, kicking. 
A millee,  all wailing together
as my hands close over my ears