Today's poem is by Peter Waldor

Two Crooks

As in two underarms,
with soft stinking stalactites,
under one an infant,
the other, a young child.
If I move, I am dead,
as in, one or both
could wake.
Their dreams are
two libraries, burning up.
Never bother a young
sleeper, even if
you have to go
to the bathroom.
One crook is no different
from the other,
though the infant uses his crook
like a hat and the elder
uses his like a pillow.
Imagine an outcropping
and on either side a cave
and in each cave
a hermit;
how horrified the hermits
would be if they knew
of each other.
The sounds, one hack saw
and one coping saw;
and this sleep
is merely considered a road
between places.

Copyright © 2008 Peter Waldor All rights reserved
from Runes
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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