The Game

 When I was a child,

my grandmother owned

a brace of ducks.

I used to make the tiny creatures run

as fast as I wanted them to and

at times

turn them into birds,

coerce them into flying,

if only momentarily,

as high as they could.

 

Meanwhile,

I laughed, screamed, giggled

until tired of the game.

 

Now,

paddling in the watery

world of ambition

struggling even to walk

exhausted, beaten

injured –

cornered in the high walls of deceit and trickery –

witness the world’s boisterous laugh

at the run-over puppy of my being.