The Victor

I sit quietly withdrawn
covered in the tattered blanket of victory
after an argument with you.

I made my points and threw my logic confetti
all over your clean floors,
and I laughed so deviously
as I watch you sweep it up, slowly,
fuming and fading into contempt.

I wounded you with my wisdom,
and though you waited so patiently
to make your false points,
no order you could conceive
was stronger than my razor wit
and bellowing broad sword.

But now that the war is won
and the spoils are mine,
I sit alone—draped in the winnings—lamenting
my selfishly foolish crime.

Triumph, at such cost,
for an assuredly correct mind.