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King of the Hill

When I was a ginger eight
my many cousins and I liked to play
King On The Mountain,
or at least the older and stronger
enjoyed being on top of a grassy mound
as lesser beings formed military alliances
further magnifying their/our winning majesty
in this empire-struggling win/lose game.

Engaged in our playful struggle
so long as autonomous individuals
and cooperative team members
continued to win often enough
to retain recreative tension
about push and shove battle outcomes.

Issues of patriarchy
with feminist trust levels
did not emerge
as I recall,
although this may be because we were cousins
already well acclimated to our sensory/sensual diversity
and recreational integrity
for resilient play without anyone getting seriously hurt,
emotionally or physically,
spiritually or naturally.

Patriarchal offenses
and retaining the King’s defensive power
over all comers
may be more of an issue for long-exercised narcissists
in immature adult full-bloom rabidity,
speaking and doing viral negative
degenerative
pushes and shoves,
name calling
and invitations to go back home
rather than respect for tenacity,
trying to become King of the Mountain
cooperatively together.

Somehow we found enough emotional room
for everyone at the top or the bottom.
We came to trust each other enough
to know and feel critical differences
between sometimes winning and sometimes losing
degenerative/regenerative in-between tension
lapsing toward probable lose/lose chaos
and win/win recreative intention
of contests balancing autonomous competition
with interdependent cooperation

Creative and recreative strategies
to keep our hill full of healthy opportunity
to share times of aristocratic supremacy
in a challenging, yet freely engaged, game market
that all my cousins would continue investing in
so long as each win/lose struggler
continues to feel reassured
cared for and with
more than plotted against
dissonant and dismissed.

When this role play exercise ended
we would all go back to becoming the same ego characters,
personalities
primal relatives that our mothers bore

So we would have each other to play King of Mountains,
Queen of the Romantic Ball,
and Who Can Spit Watermelon Seeds Furthest,
most accurately,
with the highest graceful arc,
with the least and loudest spitting noise, etc.

If we had known
King Of The Capitalist Hill
is the only local through global Game
of win/lose power
on an overcrowded planet,
I wonder if our trust
in win/win interdependent healthy outcomes
would remain so robustly influential
to our affiliative strategies
and compassionate cousin feelings.

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