A dreadful look upon his face,
and I begin to feel embrace
of power, entity and strength
over his petty body's length.
My hand transforms into a fist,
the comforting, faithful assist,
with which my might and fervor show
with every tear that my hand blows.
He trembles and lets out a cry;
a weak and worthless shriek, so dry
that others watching start to laugh,
as I endure my grateful wrath.
He mumbles, “Stop; I did no harm”
before I raise my forceful arm.
But I don't stop, don't yield to his plea,
just as my dad had done to me.