She Is So Primitive
She is so primitive, someone whispered.
I smirked, knowing they meant me.
Odd for sure, another agreed. Someone who never met me.
But of course had heard the rumors.
I am primal, I told them, telepathically.
But they were too advanced to pick up on it.
Too far evolved from their aboriginal ancestors to understand.
I loved the knowledge that they would have to live many more lifetimes
to obtain the primitive they thought they recognized in me.
One ventured closer, and kept her eye on me.
She watched my every movement, so I because entertaining.
Picked things up and examined them, as if I knew what I was doing.
Then plunked them back with a sigh, breaking two of them.
Her best china apparently.
Does she not know the disvalue of material things?
“She is primitive,” she reported back to her little gang.
I did not apologize for the aftermath of the breakage.
That would have confused them even more.
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