I

A pink dot hovered
and popped into my life
like a mistold joke
that has to be explained
and then lies beached;
stripped of its humour
until it fades into awkwardly
resumed conversation.

Except this conversation is not resumed
and the dot has swollen
to the size and shape of a baked bean.

II

Somewhere
deep in your stomach
is a little part of me
the size and shape
of a baked bean.

Something
I have never seen
but have to believe is there
because a pink
dot told me so

Sometimes
I feel a fierce love
for this unformed amphibian:
then I forget
that it is there.