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two wee lads grew up in the same village---
with their houses only a short distance away
they became close friends at an early age
playing the same sports, both learning how to
play an instrument, stumbling through early flirtations with
girls & even pondering their prospective futures---
theirs was an unparalleled bromance.

upon the eve of their high school graduation,
one of the young men decided that he wanted to go to school for
marketing---
he wanted to go to school to study what he thought was a lucrative field
so that he would 
sooner than later
be rolling in the benjamins---
because, with mucho benjamins came mucho power
and with mucho power came mucho women---
this all made sense to an 18 year old who had 
only one thing on his mind.

the other young man was passionate
he was far too passionate to take on the business world
or to involve himself with anything
lucrative at all---
he took it upon himself to pursue his painting
with a few pit stops in other countries along the way
scrapping & meeting new people
meeting more new people & scrapping further.

and while one idea followed a distinct plan 
with a definable conclusion in sight,
the other path functioned without any direction 
whatsoever &
the very absence of expectation 
during the whole of his travels
made the way of the second young man’s life
seemingly much more interesting than the 
first’s.  

over the years the two individuals lost touch as things
go---
the first graduated college, began working for a big firm,
got married & moved out to the west coast---
the second went the other direction, overseas,
never rooting anywhere for more than a bit of time.

years went by
as years do,
and in time the marketing man climbed the ladder---
his dwelling grew in size
his brood multiplied
and all seemed well in happytown.

the other, whose legs continued to cross 
borders, but whose pockets never really jingled much,
he continued, without expectation.

the man with the big house &
the large family &
the jingling pockets
had planned every step so succinctly
that it seemed nothing could fail,
as each individual part thrived on the
greater monolith,
working together from within---
but at age 40 he was killed in a plane crash
with the rest of his family.

the second man kept on traveling,
he kept on painting &
he continues to
expecting nothing from this life.
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