Flexibility
This morning when I was pursuing
Just one of my many routines,
My son asked why I wasn’t doing
That task by a whole other means.
I pondered his concept’s adoption,
And quickly saw it wouldn’t do,
Not owing to flaws in the option,
But since it would mean something new.
Cause
It always seemed to be the case
Whenever our kids were off base
The circumstance was said to be
A trait which they received from me.
Unchanged
We were good friends in school,
And for some years thereafter.
Our humor was the tool,
So we shared lots of laughter.
But suddenly I stopped
Hearing back from him,
Attempts at contact flopped,
The chance to find him slim.
Then thirty long years later
I started to rejoice,
For little could be greater—
Than when I heard his voice!
I learned he’d lived right near me
That whole time, with a wife.
I asked what made him flee—
He shrugged, and just said, “Life.”
Although he hadn’t lied,
I felt swept ‘neath a rug,
But masking hurt I tried,
While giving him a hug.
They soon came by for dinner,
I made a fancy meal,
The night seemed like a winner,
Again our friendship real.
Next I went to his house,
A fine full day was had,
I gave praise to his spouse,
Which seemed to make him glad.
I said I’d like to see him
Again before the snow,
He mentioned a museum,
And said that we should go.
I then called and emailed
On what we were to see,
But every reach-out failed,
Once more he ghosted me!
Russel Winick started writing poetry after ending a long legal career. He resides in Naperville, Illinois.
More pearls of wisdom from you, Russel, to which I can relate (especially “Flexibility”). And “see him/museum” made me laugh out loud.