The close call by Amber Rose

A friend calls, so I ask him to stop by.   

We sit on the couch and talk about life.

Lost in conversation as time flies by

The sun finally sets it’s time to leave

Gathering my things surprised by a kiss

Forgetting to breath I pull away quick

Confused by his gesture clearing my head

What the hell just happened you’re my best friend

Angry by his impulse yet wanting more

Like a dessert stuck in a big snow storm

Blinking past the memories as I cry

Awaken by reality so fast

This could ruin everything why god why

Without thought my hand stings across his cheek  

Running out of the restaurant he follows

Heart races I scream out profanity

But he pulls me close and I start to weep

Why is this so comforting don’t let go

So warm and safe I don’t want him to leave

No one moves no one talks as we stand still

Only when the rain begins to soak us

We move into my car close in the dark

Talking and laughing and wondering why

Finding my reaction humorous now

He gets brave and decides to try again

This time he pulls me in and won’t let go

At first I fight and try to pull away

As his lips hold mine I start to relax

Looking back today it’s hard to believe

I almost ran from the boy I just wed

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The Good News

BY DAVID YEZZI

                       A friend calls, so I ask him to stop by.   

We sip old Scotch, the good stuff, order in,

some Indian—no frills too fine for him

or me, particularly since it's been

                                       ages since we made the time.

                      Two drinks in, we've caught up on our plans.

I've sleepwalked through the last few years by rote;

he's had a nasty rough patch, quote unquote,

on the home front. So, we commiserate,

                                       cupping our lowballs in our hands.   

                        It's great to see him, good to have a friend

who feels the same as you about his lot—

that, while some grass is greener, your small plot

is crudely arable, and though you're not

                                       so young, it's still not quite the end.   

                      As if remembering then, he spills his news.

Though I was pretty lit, I swear it's true,

it was as if a gold glow filled the room

and shone on him, a sun-shaft piercing through

                                       dense clouds, behind which swept long views.

                      In that rich light, he looked not like my friend

but some acquaintance brushed by on the train.

Had his good fortune kept me from the same,

I had to wonder, a zero-sum game

                                       that gave the night its early end?

                      Nothing strange. Our drinks were done, that's all.

We haven't spoken since. By morning, I

couldn't remember half of what the guy

had said, just his good news, my slurred goodbye,

                                       the click of the latch, the quiet hall.