You and I, at a dinner party,
that's all your fault,
I mean...idea.
And we're looking across the table
at each other, cross-eyed.
Like waiting in line at the DMV to pay our dues
when we're only going to use them
to hurt each other.
You're glaring at me to straighten up
and act polite,
I'm pretending not to notice you.
Kicking once...
maybe twice under the table for good measure.
And suddenly we're children again,
fighting over the biggest plastic dump truck
or the coolest ninja turtle.
Each with our own best interest at heart.
True to ourselves, no notion of imaginary altruism.
Until my mom or yours smacks one of us
upside the head,
"Be nice!"
and in the interest of self-preservation...
we are.