Poetry

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Let’s face it,
You and I are nuts about each other and have been for a long time.
What kind of nuts? Just plain nuts.
And it only continues to grow around, ironically, a plain nut or two that we roll back and forth between each other like a couple of squirrels.
(What a delightfully squirrely relationship we have!)
I restlessly roll the nut toward you most nights, rebounding it off the wall of course and wondering if it ought not to have been cracked by now, if we ought not to be digging into its contents at this late stage,
Wondering, will we have gone to our graves together never having even cracked it one time?
Oh, I know what you will say: that just the prospect of cracking it one day is enough
and that our hope of penetrating its contents is the point of it all,
the hope that points us forward and so on, but I’m not so sure as you are, or seem to be…..
I didn’t say I wasn’t sure, mind you, but that I wasn’t SO sure…..
that nuts are mainly for burying, after all.

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