I HAVE A FRIEND
by Jason Monios
I have a friend,
a friend who once sat
near to me.
When we re-arranged the office
at work, he was placed
near to me. I tossed
him a wink, threw him a smile,
shared a glance with him.
Nudge nudge, wink wink.
“We won’t skive,” he said.
He has a way of making me
feel small, unheroic and petty.
When we spoke of our girlfriends,
our long-term partners, our futures,
I asked him if kids were on the horizon.
There must have been a tone,
there usually was, in my voice,
in those times. The sort of tone
that implies one should not
want those things, not yet,
not while we were young.
“Kids on the horizon?” I almost snorted.
“I’m not afraid of that,” he said.
I have a friend,
a friend who once was
near to me.