Tom and I
We sat on the edge of an operating room table,
Tom and I, dangling our legs and eating peaches
while juice dribbled down our chins and puddled
on the oyster shell floor. A nurse was measuring
the walls with a coffee spoon, and a hippopotamus
brought a plate of cinnamon toast and a pot of tea.
“Do you dare to eat and drink?” it asked, before
it sat down on the doctor’s stool to play a golden harp.
Then Tom jumped down and rolled up the bottoms of his pants.
“I have to take my poetry to work while there’s still time,” he said.
He put a cat on his head and disappeared into the fog.
In the stillness (and the silliness),