I’d pulled out that conversational quaffle:
would you rather play every instrument
or speak every language fluently?
It went around. The people you’d guess
would answer first did so; then you said,

“Both.” “You can’t take both.” It sounded awful,
but you laughed without discontent.
“Yes I can, my friend. This is fantasy,
and in mine, I play a letterpress
accordion and a xylophone riverbed

while my pedicured feet beat out a skiffle.
I rap rhymes with the perfect accent
in Sanskrit, Esperanto, Lingala and Farsi.
And while we’re at it, I confess
I can fly, turn invisible and raise the dead.

I can’t be stopped, so don’t try to fence me.
And don’t worry. I’m benevolent in my prowess.”
Since then, I can’t get your eyes out of my head.