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Tall Poppies

Though the credentialed one insists it is a man in the sky who is brow beating my better ideas into three kittens drowned in the river, I have decided it is a prince of a female persuasion.

She is the bejeweled crowned one who haunts me in the night, and the morning, and on my lunch break. The one who condemned my every intuitive decision with a dismissive wave of the royal hand. She, the one who warned against personal sacrifice in the name of love, or of family or of sanity. The one who has me squatting in the courtyard to relieve myself - not worthy of her personal close stool.

And today I have found her out and I have stood nose to nose.

And I am surprised to realize.

She is a good two inches shorter than me, and aged, and exceptionally, bleedingly lonely.

Despite it, I need her. She is the only one who can save my tall poppies.

So we have drafted a treaty, her and I, from which to defeat the encroaching armada by the marriage of our countries - mine rooted firmly on earth where she is unwelcome and hers some place in outer space - where she rules supreme and I, left alone, can only float helplessly.

Be careful enemies of psyche, there are flaming ships now headed your way.

3:40 p.m. - 2007-11-08
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