At first, there are only four of us in bed,
my You, and your You,
your Me, and Mine.
We are like rabbits hidden in the trees
of a child’s puzzle;
half of us are obvious,
half are invisible.
The four of us would make a great couple
if there were not six of us.
You-as-you-used-to-be
keeps turning off the light,
and me-as-I-used-to-be sulks.
But even THEY don’t come alone.
There is MY you-as-you-used-to-be,
with whom I don’t get along,
and there is YOUR me-as-I-used-to-be,
who I hate outright.
And the same on your side.
It’s like a family reunion
where nobody is talking to anybody else.
MY you-as-you-used-to-be
hates you-as-you-are-now
like sisters-in-law who are fat and thin.
YOUR me-as-I-used-to-be
is always looking for a fight,
and MY me-as-I-used-to-be
always makes sure he gets it.
If you did not bring in
both-of-us-as-we-will-be
to act as doddering peacemakers,
there would be bloodshed every time.
I tell you the truth, sometimes
I wish we could slip away,
just the two of us.
The only problem is,
I don’t know who I’d take,
YOUR you, or MINE.
And what’s more,
I’m not sure which ME
they’d go with.
©WILLIAM JOHN WATKINS
William John Watkins 