A Faster Polka

The little tyrant looks over my shoulder.
“Are you writing about me?”
I shake my head.
“Why not?”
I shrug.
“You should write about me.
Aren’t I pretty?”
I say nothing.

“Write that I’m pretty.
Say that I’m smart
and charming
and can dance a polka
faster than anyone else!”
“Why would you be dancing a faster polka?”
She ignored me.

“Talk about my rock collection
and the ants I experimented on
and how good I can be in jumping jacks
if I’m properly inspired.”
“You mean sufficiently bribed.”
“Whatever.”

“So, if I understand you,”
I should write about your better traits
and ignore your worse traits
and compliment you incessantly
and also praise you exhaustively.”
“Sounds about right.”
“And if I do this,
satisfy your every egotistical need
in this regard,
what’s in it for me?”
“I’ll leave you alone
long enough to finish.”

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