Tuesday, August 11, 2015


A Question Of Years
A Poem About Youthful Standards

I am always sad when I think
Of the last time we spoke.
We worked together,
We often talked and laughed,
It was just a nice friendship
Like I was her lost uncle;
It could never be more.
I did like her, just a little.
"I'm twenty one..." She said
A twinkle in her eye.
'That's nice." I said,
A week later she reminded me,
"I'm twenty one."
"That is wonderful." I replied.
And later that week she said.
"You know I'm Twenty one"
"Yes, I know."
Awkward silence.
"Are your kids in school, yet?" she asked.
I was glad for a new topic.
"Yes, in grad school.
Yale. I'm so proud of him."
"What? How old are you?"
Now it was plain.
I knew the next words
Would slay our friendship-
But I told her anyway.
A cloud came over her face
The sparkle left her eyes.
She turned her back
Walked away.
Ten minutes later the boss said,
"Deborah just went home sick.
Did she say anything to you?"
I knew then
Deborah was gone,
And we would never speak again.
It felt empty
To grieve this friendship's death.
I said,
You know boss, she's twenty one."

I gave the ending a little "Well that's life" attitude as a stoic upbeat for the purpose of form and my style, but I mean no disrespect to Debbie. (Wherever she is).

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(c) Adron Dozat 2015

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