The Solipsist

The tables have turned again and again
and again I, a tireless adversary
stare deep into my own reflection

He smiles softly, eyebrows drifting upwards,
poorly concealing some clever protuberance
a new trick up the sleeve of his faded blue blazer

We each seek control of our counterpart,
at least: prevalence in atavistic contention
at best: victory of self over selfless

Despite our coextensive confidence,
I alone can shift our paradigm
and I now embrace my upper ground:
this game is mine to lose
and in knowing this, I have won.