KT in spirit is an amalgam of friends from my past, but significantly of one in particular.
In a small car
on return from crème brulee
at the corner of Lexington and East Main Street
during mid autumn last year
while stopped at the light
you said, “There are many levels of intimacy.”
In a crowded diner
waiting for an omelet, no broccoli rabe, please, but extra zucchini,
at a square table
of small dimension
during Sunday brunch
while chatter around us shredded small talk
you asked, “Am I too emotional?”
Levels of being; dimensions unthought; rare-sudden moments discovering,
I reach through you.
Your fire’s edges mused me, Polyhymnia.
Copyright 2017 G. W. Wayne, all rights reserved.
“I’m Margee’s friend,” I shouted at him. I tried to pry myself loose, putting one arm underneath his, and went for his balls with my leg, like we practiced in gym class. That pissed him off. He got behind me with an armlock, I think.
“I’m the 911 caller,” I said. “That’s my friend, Margee. Is she dead?”