Anger 
I killed the bee for no reason except that it was there and you were
          watching, disapproving,
which made what I would do much worse but I was angry with
          you anyway and so I put my foot on it,
leaned on it, tested how much I'd need to make that resilient,
          resisting cartridge give way
and crack! abruptly, shockingly it did give way and you turned
          sharply and sharply now
I felt myself balanced in your eyes—why should I feel myself so
          balanced always in your eyes;
isn't just this half the reason for my rage, these tendencies of
          yours, susceptibilities of mine?—
and "Why?" your eyes said, "Why?" and even as mine sent back my
          answer, "None of your affair,"
I knew that I was being once again, twice now, weighed, and this
          time anyway found wanting.

                          C.K. Williams