Blissful Ignorance

The water ripples

as the rock I kick scuttles,

and sinks,

leaving nothing but a fading dimple.

That ought to teach it,

I mumble,

for coming in the way

of my evening stroll.

Is there retribution

for such discreet crime?

Surely there must be,

or my pain would be worth no more than a dime!

The throb in my stubbed little toe ebbs,

sated with revenge,

but now my big toe aches

from the memory of its pursuance.

It was worthwhile, I would say,

for I must not tolerate being conned,

and so the fiend must lie in wait for decay

in the depths of the pond.

With my vanity reclaimed,

never again to be defamed,

I walked on,

wincing at every step.