Unfamiliar by Kimberly Coverly
A friend knocks, so I ask her to come in.
We swallow root beer, always our favorite,
She lays it on thick, the charm and the wit,
But, I do not mind, this is what I get,
For not contacting since I don’t know when.
Two drinks in, we’ve covered all the cliché,
I’ve skimmed through all the things that don’t matter,
We’ve talked about her life, through small laughter,
And shed a tear for the parts in tatters,
We take a long moment for her to pray.
It’s nice to see her, nice to have a pal,
That has gone through the same hard path as you.
Though, hard to admit, and long overdue,
You will make do, your life is not so blue.
This realized from the stories of your gal.
Yet, just then, a light bulb seems to go off.
It seems she has almost just forgotten,
To tell you her life was never rotten.
The room seems filled with Egyptian cotton.
I let out a silent sigh, and a cough.
She no longer seemed like an old friend,
Rather, a stranger from a different town.
While I was in rags, she was in a silk gown.
I had to wonder, was it my sad frown,
That brought this long night to a sullen end?
No, our glasses were empty, that was it.
Yet I have gotten nothing from her since,
Our conversation seems to have been rinsed
From her mind and mine, at that thought, I wince.
Though this lesson, I will never forget.
_________________________________________________________________________________
The Good News
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.
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