Hot tears stream down crimson
Cheeks from red-raging eyes and drip
Onto the grey tiled floor where small
Feet stamp a tarantella of frustration
In time to a howling rhythm.
White-boned hands clenched tight,
Shake against her taut unbending frame,
Wracked by the injustice.
Dispassionate eyes stare and judge silently
Above bemused nods and tactful whispers.
She does not see. She does not hear.
Nothing penetrates but the cause of her passion,
Caught up in a maelstrom of confusion and clarity.
The frenzy fades, the blackness lifts and sensing
A cause lost, reluctantly the elfin malcontent
Concedes defeat, and succumbs to the consolation
Of her mothers arms.
© JEFT 1992
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