Reunions with old friends
sometimes expend the soulmore than anticipated;
notions of what had precipitated
closeness soon devolve
into the dreams of an involvement
in which recollected schemes
of intimacy – themes of which
have haunted every separate
member more inimitably
than the rest can fathom – break
apart into the isolated atoms of confabulated memory.
One evokes the many, many
beers they drank with cheer,
the recollection of which brings
the second man to tears;
the third assumes all three
were hopelessly in love
with someone whom the other two
cannot recall at all. Now they are
a nudist and a Buddhist
and an owner of a shopping mall.
And yet they didn’t really quarrel.
There isn’t any moral.
.
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