Little Wanderer

While out and about one day

I saw a little boy no older than two.

He waddled, low to the ground,

Seemingly lost.

The discovery to walk must have

Been a recent milestone.

His baby blanket was hooked firmly

In his little hand while his other thumb

Was fastened in his mouth.

His eyes, so big, seemed empty except

For the thought of his mother.

At least that’s what I believe a two-year-old

Would be thinking about.

Then his dear mother appeared

In a flash from the crowd. All eyes watching.

Her face was lightning

As her little boy wandered and fell behind.

Her thundering palm met the back of his head

And tears welled up in his darling eyes.

She reached down and yanked him forward.

His feet departed the floor.

“Keep up with me!”

“Hurry up! You’re slow!”

She scolded him, snarling,

While she dragged him behind her.

Then she released his small arm

As if he could fend for himself.

His pace could not keep up

With his mother’s strides.

But she yelled like it was no fault

But his own.

I wish she would’ve just picked him up

And cradled him the way he deserves.