it’s funny

I often laugh to myself

thinking of you

thinking of me

as unknowing


to you

who you are

as if you’ve covered me

in some story you contrived

out of twigs

made a house of bricks

but I see the sticks

I know your tricks

blindfolded my eyes

turned me round

circled in spin

and set loose

you didn’t consider

I don’t use my eyes to see

nor my head to lead

why else were we given intuition?

and I laugh

at the thought of you

thinking of me

eating what I’m fed