Between A Stone And A Hard Place Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

No stone that could be
upturned
was ever left in peace.

There was this innate need
to know what lay beneath.
I believed below each

there was a Treasure of
the Sierra Madre.
By my first teen age years

sometime in the middle
of last century
I had seen the movie.

The truth is that I didn't look
for anything that was still.
Gold wasn't it.

Only if it had a black stinger
at the end of its tail
or two horns on its head.