Twins are clones as you probably know,
One egg splits and then they grow
But did Jack split from me, or me from him?
Which of us is the human synonym?
Yet, if I wasn’t born me, who would I be?
Maybe I’d be him and he’d be me.
We’d still be asked the same dumb questions
that we hear all the time with few exceptions.
“Are you Jack or Jerry?” we were repeatedly asked;
Which one is taller and runs the most fast?
Do you play tricks on teachers? What’s it like to be a twin?
We’d answer each question, time and again.
When you were small did you dress alike?
I’ll bet you were such adorable tykes.
Jack and Jill went up the hill, I’m so clever
You never heard that one before, not ever.
If your twin cuts off his hand in Spain,
And you’re in Maine, do you feel his pain?
Can you read his mind and he read yours?
Sorry I asked, am I a bore?
Yes, you are, but don’t get me wrong: there is one thing for which I long that in old photos when we were three, I’d know which is him and which is me.