Poetry Wednesday

Drawn

you are drawing me

(no one ever draws me/

it hasn’t happened in a while)

but it’s pleasant like soda pop

fizzing all over

falling short of my fingers

but welling over in places

there is a terrible mania

in me

when I think of it, as it must be

pooling on the floor

I feel this way when someone else washes my hair

and when the doorbell rings.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:

The Tree
by Alfred Kreymborg

I am four monkeys.
One hangs from a limb,
tail-wise,
chattering at the earth;
another is cramming his belly with coconut;
the third is up in the top branches,
quizzing the sky,
and the fourth—
he's chasing another monkey.
How many monkeys are you?