Night Gang

The Siamese twins water my plant, and look at me
with their one heart beating, and their one stomach
churning dinner.

An Archangel
opens the fridge, eats a hard-boiled egg,
goes to sleep on my side of the bed, nuzzles my wife.

There are not many eyes and not many nights in the night,
and not many puppets in this night of eyes.

Who then
dances in there

like a little drum? I’ve been replaced by an
imposter.