I
You can be as cruel as I, or so they say,
Pouring sand like fire on your victim.
A buck-toothed brunette, what choice did you have?
You are no noble but a unformed man.
And when she screams and kicks I think you feel,
Mounting adrenaline and pounding heart.
I need not perform any dissections,
You know this to be true, and what is more,
Those things that you grow into do the same.
II
This, I hope, is the final word in the:
Savagery of youth. It is, but grows.
III
You goose-stepping monster, puffed up brute,
Whose extent of self-reflection is pride,
Self-love beyond all means, and you model,
all after yourself and FIND ALL LACKING
IV
This, I hope, is the final word about,
A Child's Play. Perfected by mere dogs.
