Today I got stabbed in the head with a fork,

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.