Narcissist

Mr. Foppish sits in front of his mini-computer.
Writing about his life.
About how great it is.
Because.
He believes that everyone wants to know.
Who he is.
How he does it.
And nothing else matters.

He sports BIG ears.
Huge green eyes.
And a rather far advancing forehead.
His mouth is tiny.
His chin is too.
And his jawline is covered with a 5 ‘clock shadow.

Mr. Foppish peers out his leaf covered window.
Inside the ivy-covered wall.
And sees the human woman typing on the computer.
Inside the house.
On the opposite side of the pool.

He’s not phased at all.
Because.
He doesn’t care.

The woman knows about Mr. Foppish and Co.
Living in her backyard.
Has seen them swinging from leaf to leaf.
Skittering across the grounds.
Taking afternoon walks.
Overhearing their chitter chatter.

And she’s not phased at all.
Because.
The writing of her biography.
The one she thinks everyone wants to read.
Is the most important thing.
To her.
Because.
Nothing else matter.

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