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.