The purple pacifier vanished
 One week ago. I found it today
 While rocking the baby: deserted 
 Like a dead man’s sombrero
 That was blown by a western wind 
 Against a stubby leg 
 Of the gray changing table, blended 
 As gray and purple tend to do,
 Sticking its tongue out at me
 This whole time 
 Like I’m the one 
 Who won the duel