Purple swan (Contention)

Across the table your voice rises in anger,

I quietly make the ritual base folds,

you stand, your voice louder,

hurling vile epithets,

my hands continue the precise folds,

with creases sharper than your words,

you step closer, threatening,

the complex folds are nearly complete,

unsatisfied, you turn and stalk away, tasting defeat,

 as the swan takes on its’ final shape,

unknowingly, you assured my victory,

by stepping out of harmony with natural law,

I turn slowly in my seat,

gently handing the purple swan, which is meaningless,

to a young girl who stood watching with her parents,

I’m rewarded with the bright smile of a summer day,

returning the smile, I walk slowly away.

 

 

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