She Is On Her Own
I have not one friend she grouses to me.
I have known her for years, so how could this be?
I’m not a friend? I ask her worried a bit.
Not in the least, she says, clearly meaning it.
I have no ideas for this stranger now.
I guess she’s on her own, this thoughtless cow.
She calls me the next day and wants to talk.
I put her on speaker, and hear her squawk.
Who was that? My husband asks me.
Not a friend, I reply. For it is now clear to me.
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