Cheap timber carrying logs of flesh,
A series of near-parallel wood planks,
And a thick bouncy mattress on top
That looks like an ocean with crease ripples,
You look to see some folds, like little prisms
Making long triangular carvings out of cloth.
And here rests, pillows, a rosary, a hanky,
A covering cloth, a book that reads “Bangkok”,
And two negligible depressions, on either side,
Marking two independent territories,
While below, rest two partially-broken bed planks,
Reminding us of that day, when two devoted missionaries,
Were almost swallowed, down the shaft,
Of a ravenous sinkhole.