one Saturday in early April
sitting in the shadows
I work on poetry
because I’ve got nothing
left to do
our good friend Greg
is buried in Mt. Calvary
beside his father
(I know this because
I was a witness)
it was a reunion of sorts
for the remaining three of us
reunited from divergent points
by way of the big chill
there was no service
and beforehand we met
over coffee
recollecting history
followed by revisiting
old places under new ownership
at the end of the day
I found myself exactly
where I started
sitting in the shadows
and working on poetry
march two thousand eighteen
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