Fight in the Terminal

I’ve had enough! screams the mother,

shaking her fist, bags drooping to the floor.

The little girl matches; bright, defiant eyes,

a scowl that could wither newborn buds.

Too much! seethes Mother. She is armed heavy.

She is breaking something.

Daughter howls out. She does not know sense yet.

Her screeching bleeds into the wind, makes the roof shudder.

People are staring now, but suitcase battlements block reason,

words thunder, will old rage prevail?

Brother stands dumbly by, gaze averted, accustomed

to the girlish huffs and blows; he is never a part of them.