My Friend is Gone

by Hugh B. Starkey

My friend is no longer here
His smile, his laugh, gone astray Images of the past
Gradually slip away
  
What once was so dear
His kind and loving smile
Now a biting tongue
That I must not rile
  
There is fear in his voice
No matter the times he’s told
The fear of being lost 
The fear of growing old
  
He forgets what was said 
Time eats away the mind 
Little by little he forgets
To the present, he is blind
  
Though he’s here beside me
He is very much alone
Though he’s in my grasp
My friend is gone
   

A Saturday I hoped would end soon.
I dreaded the afternoon.
A gathering of family and friends.
At the Uncle’s who drove the Benz.
I found, an out of the way place by the wall.
On a mount to make me seem tall.
I planned to stay there out of the way.
Then suddenly, something brightened the day.
We knew the same people, but neither the other.
Yet here we were standing next to each other.
One shyly looked the other over.
We both waved to Uncle Grover.
‘Do you know him?’ I said with a smile.
She answered ‘Yes,” in what seemed awhile.
We began to talk about mundane things.
She shyly looked down and twirled her rings.
Soon we relaxed and talked more freely.
I found myself saying a lot of, ‘O really.’
We finally got around to saying our names.
Then another interlude of silence came.
We didn’t say much after that.
Until a woman passed with a funny hat.
She made a comment about the look.
After that we were hooked.
I said of one of the many people there.
‘He has the look of a grumpy old bear.’
She then replied with, ‘She walks like a duck.’
I then insisted, ‘He’s built like a truck.’
We went on for some time explaining the creatures.
Assigning to unaware guests various features.
I never thought I would enjoy such a gathering.
So many places that I would have rather been.
She was so very kind, so sweet, so witty.
I found her smile, her hair, her face so pretty.
And then in an instant I stood alone at the wall.
This wonderful experience ended with a sudden fall.
In the excitement of the game I got carried away.
O’ how I wish you could reverse what you say.
A woman walked by and I said, ‘She could use an udder.’
She stormed off mumbling, ‘That, is my mother!’ 
   

Garden Party

by Clif Blanc

House

by Jason V. Brock

Resistance

by Maren V. Henry

Just imagine
your fingers slowly tracing
your self onto my body
over and over my flesh again
until your image appears in trails
where my blood has risen
to meet your hands
with a heat that melts
time like Dali's clocks.
   
Your ink would flow
onto me and drip
along the curves
of my body slowly
penetrating the pores
of my skin to leave
a permanent trace of you.
   
I will give myself
as canvas
but will resist
in traces of wax
refusing to absorb
you wholly