Wednesday, 13 June 2012

Turtle men, a poem

like turtles on a log;

blared voices,
music videos,
lights on

xbox churning
itself into oblivion
smells of hot plastic

It’s 4:00 a.m.
I switch it all

do I move them?
these three not-men
piled like puppies

like soldiers,
like brothers
with giant feet

hands, limbs and noses
poking out of the one
thin sleeping bag?

the smallest on top
curled hands beneath his chin
could be a cherub

an urchin, a lover
such bliss so young
and so old

wrapped in the arms
of intimate sleep,
all three, and so deep


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