wishbone

Tic-tac toe, and rock paper scissors

Silly games with only one winner

the illusion of strategy and the glory of a win

I prefer to lose before the game can begin

I think of myself as a wishbone

Delicate ivory waiting to be broken

A memoir of words prepared to be spoken

Ready to give you the larger half 

Before you even had the chance to ask.

To rip apart my bones 

What’s a missing rib from Adam’s home?

I wonder who I am beyond my acts of servitude

Selfishly waiting for a drop of gratitude

For the way I bend and contort

To comfort your world from any hurt

Yet I fall into the hands of those,

Who lavish the sound of snapping of bones,

Those who know my game 

And eagerly play all the same,

Aware of how weakly I grasp my bone

As they break the brittle, and take their winning prize home.