The type of all Theodicy

The muscular child who beat him has gone exulting into the plump, pink, arms of one young and rich

He hides his tears because his own Mother, even in memory, is old, poor and ever farther away

'Why so woebegone?' asks wifey & though it revolts his soul to be thought a snitch

He wails of how baby whupped his ass under some paltry pretense of play