Nameless Lad
He last had a pal in the 7th grade,
They shared a class from the 1st grade.
And together, for Home Economics,
they were always late.
But the seventh grade showed up, in its
claws it held their un-anticipated fate.
For death's heartless might had
snatched away the pal's dear moter,
The lad watched as he packed the
boots that both their feet knew.
Off he went to unknown horizons.
"I will write", is all he said.
And so, at the post office,
the lad became a familiar face.
"He never forgot me", he convinces
his lonely self everyday.
The 12th grade is his current stop.
He recently acquired a harmless infection-hope.
So, while he dejectedly kicks innocent pebbles
in the streets he's quite hopeful that the other lad, his pal,
will write..........or maybe tweet.
Word has it, though, that the pal was
seen somewhere.
He was wearing a black suit...
Word has it also that he couldn't make a conversation.
Instead of his trademark smile,
solemnity had found a home in his face.
There he was, stone dead.
"Maybe, just maybe, he will write",
thinks the nameless lad as he kicks a
couple of innocent pebbles while he threads
on one rugged path towards home.
And tomorrow he's going to the post office.
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