The Baby

a poem

The baby’s gone — he said.

Oh come on, she replied. I didn’t even see you put her down.

I could have sworn she was on this sheet.

You just woke up — you’re still groggy.

Y’know, I guess you’re right, he said, sitting back down with his coffee at the typewriter.

I guess I just dreamt her, I hadn’t written her yet.

Photo-montage self-portrait by AleXander Hirka — w/thanks to rawpixel/Pixabay


© AleXander Hirka 2019. All Rights Reserved.



Writer, visual artist, philosopher, autodidact, curmudgeon. More than half of what i do is make believe.

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