Rage-

rattling around in my chest
like the claws of a tiger
across the bars of a cage-

hemmed in by care
and non-confrontational desires,

as a friend kills another by inches,
wounding me the same way
only because I stepped in between them,
stronger than the little one,
older,
to shout "bas,"
to declare "enough"
with the sharp hand
and power of a Bollywood father
when a vampire's fangs
sink too close to the heart.

I will not destroy her.
I can't,
intentionally.

But bit by bit,
I can dole out warnings,
advice,
demands that she mend-
and if all else fails,
I will grab the little one
but the scruff of his neck
and drag him out from underneath
her downward trajectory.