Kicked and Crushed

He was a little boy, one foot tall.
Boys of his race were always small.
My brother and I used to kiss his head,
His blood was yellow, sometimes red.

He had five legs, short and stout.
We loved to kick him and make him shout.
His cry was annoying and sounded bad,
But still we used to kick him like mad.

His body was brittle and easy to crush,
He lived in a cold house to be always fresh.
We took off his cap and put him down.
The boy who was liked by all in the town.

He'd run off to the road and keep rolling there.
We never did help him for we didn't care.
Vehicles shot past him but he wasn't scared.
Tricks like those we never ever dared.

Happily he rolled in dust and dirt,
In the process he tore his tiny shirt.
Oh dear! The boy was fully unclad.
Seeing this, won't his parents feel bad?

Just then Andy slammed the throttle,
Killing the boy named Pet Bottle.