Mr. B- And Me (Cracks In The Ceiling) Poem by Cherie Mort

He sighs as we stare up at the ceiling
It's midnight and we both can't sleep
''Mr. B-, '' I ask him
He looks over at me and says ''Yes? ''
''How many cracks do you suppose there are in the ceiling? ''
He smiles
''I don't know''
''Should we count them? '' He hesitates
''Okay''
- - - - - - -
It's years later from that day. I'm mad at him, and refuse to talk to him. He sighs unhappily.
Suddenly, I turn over and say,
''Hey Mr. B-'' He turns his head to look at me, a glimmer of hope in his eyes
''How many cracks do you suppose there are in the ceiling? ''
He smiles and says, ''I don't know''
I move my hand over to hold his. He squeezes my hand gently.
''Let's count them''