My High Chair

You laid your trap well.

You set your sights on flesh and took aim,

firing,

shooting to kill.

You have enjoyed your sport,

this hunting of easy prey,

this establishing of territory and who is right

and why I’m always wrong.

But in my terror I looked up –

and saw a chair

perched high

far above the drama and rules,

and I climbed and climbed

(although I’m afraid of heights)

and here I sit.

I am above you now,

above your taunts

and accusations

and lies.

 I look down on you

from my perch in the clouds,

and I laugh.

Because you look so silly

scurrying around like that,

ant-like in your madness,

searching for me in the swamp

where you make your home.

You don’t know yet

that I am up here,

in my high chair.

You don’t know yet that from this vantage point

I don’t need to play your game by your rules anymore.

From here, I can touch the sky…