The Babies

Where’re my teeth? Where’re all?
I want my food! You know I can’t walk!
While one wails and tries its crawl,
The other weeps and reads the clock.

Eyes all wet, they stare at the door.
Where’re my mates? Where’re my words?
One kicks the blocks to the floor.
The other smells his pack of cards.

Palms all red, fingers all sore,
Fingers that waddle the empty air.
Fingers one sucked, while staring at the door,
Fingers, the other’s, wrinkled and bare.

Both, babies. Alone.