Pondering the Pavement

Old, friend, as you come slowly into view,
why is it, I ask, am I always seeing you?
Your grainy, pitted, asphalt complexion
seems always to pull me in your direction,
where your answer is dispiriting, but true.  

Running from my nose, a stream of blood
drops on your pebbles, mixing with your mud. 
Our visits, for reasons multifarious
and circumstances, diverse and various
are punctuated by your answer with a thud.

Sometimes, it's another drunken fight
or a girlfriend who kicked me out at night.  
Is it comforting to know that, in the end,
I always have you, my faithful friend?
Very soon, I see we two will reunite.

Concerning our reunion: in this regard,
my heart and face are already scarred,
and I can feel you now as I make impact,
and though your message is a fact,
why must your delivery be so hard?

drinkfriendsorrowteachertruthrhyme

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