Clear Eyes

The little boy looks up at me with
clear eyes, peaceful and shy,
a demon inside.
I smile, I nod, I say all the right things.
In the end he bites me, kicks me and cries.
What happened to you, only four?
Who did this damage that haunts you now,
before you can count or cut with scissors?
Older than me in so many ways,
it's hard to be the grown-up.
Tomorrow is a new day, I say.
As the day ends, I wonder what you'll
dream of tonight in a bed that isn't yours.
I'll fix you toast and jam, eggs and bacon,
orange juice in the morning.
I'll smile and give you a hug,
and I'll mean it with all of my heart.
I hope that you'll take it without a fight.