Little Olive

It’s the eyes; the damned eyes of the child.
Those mystery copper saucers in that contemplating face.
My words being chewed over, summed up, reacted to, improved upon.
I hate children.
Damned intruders on my valuable time!

But oh those omniscient eyes!
Deep in those impassive pools, I sense a flicker.
I glimpse – her soul?
A smile floods her face.
She flings her tiny arms around my arm and hugs her newest image of me. Oh Saint me at this turning point. I am putty.
I hug her and now, she hugs me.

Her request comes next. Any request. It could be for ice cream. My heart melts. She can have the dairy if she wants it.

Those haunting, soft, forgiving, copper eyes.

Damned child.

I love her.