Poem out of nowhere

POEM OUT OF NOWHERE

Two sentences marooned on a page.

“But it finally arrived.” That’s the first one.

“A wingless creature drying in the sun.” And that’s the second.

They look suspiciously at each other.

We do not belong together, they both think, shuddering.

Nothing unites them but the day of the week, which is Friday.

Neither is wearing clothes, although it's getting cold.

Down there, on line ten, there’s a fire.

 Hot coffee. Blankets. They shiver, too proud to confer.

So there is no line ten.