there was a time

there was a time, when threes would walk in line.

followed by their mothers, and their once divorced number fives, 

they would climb around searching for a tree branch to swing from,

or a rock to jump across the land. 

the threes began to fall like dominos and the cats began to howl.

nobody remembered their name's, just the blood that leaked from their two awkward humps.

one, two, three. 

a tragic, plausible series of events.

and when the threes returned home, the mothers caught fish out of a jar, 

and the thrice removed father-in-laws found trashy magazines underneath floor mats,

only to make sense out of their life by staring at a naked blonde holding a faux cigar.

they are the ones we look up to, they never cried when the cello played their death.

they never opened their mouths when the wolves were released, they just did all they knew how to do...

they would count in threes, they would keep the lead, they would fall to their knees and swallow the barrel, wish for a father, a mother, and a body opposite of theirs.