Friend,

A lullaby, an ode, a mourning song

Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash

What does it mean to win?
What is at stake?
What’s the reward?
And what is the cost?

Listen,

The only chips I have to play
I’ll bet on us moving forward.
I don’t want to play against you.
I don’t want to win.
Clarity,
Precision,
Rightfulness,
These things used to matter.
I used to fight for them.
Create rhetoric to support them.
Unearth them.
Grip,
Bite into them,
So we see eye to eye.
Maybe I’m too old for that?
Maybe I’m less rigid?
Maybe I just want to keep my oldest friend.

And maybe I’m wrong to do it.

Eyes shut, ears covered,
Re-hashing old jokes in even older bodies,
Pretending nothing’s changed in deeper voices.
This happened, then that.
You go! No, you go first.
Did I mention that? No, you didn’t.
The past is past,
Someone said,
But how long before we reckon with the fact
That…