A most unlikely weapon.
The perpetrator? Two years old.
And mischief, her intention.
I bent to move her breakfast plate,
Arranged on it, a feast.
She’d barely eaten half a bite,
For it was food she wanted least.
Instead, revenge was in her eyes
As I took away her dish.
Retaliation for what crime? Who knows.
Bloodlust—her only wish.
She thought it funny to put the fork
Right square into my head.
It made a sound, I winced with pain.
And right away it bled.
Thank God her aim was off, you know,
She barely missed my eye.
But one day she’ll maybe keep this rage
For a well-deserving guy.