Silverware
SILVERWARE
Somewhere on Long Island,
J____ C_______ is missing a knife…
K__ brought it with him
And left it in the truck
When we were working together.
J____ C_______!
The last person bold enough,
To extend the hand of friendship to K__,
Who drinks and drugs,
And now, he is homeless
The endless patterns of alienation reach in,
As I remember all my friends.
Some, who have gone on into darkness,
And some, who have just… gone on…
This thin spoon (it always bends, when I wash it)
Is from sweet Angela.
Old as magic,
And had music straight through her,
Hands clapping, feet tapping,
She was up and dancing,
The minute the music started,
Whatever music it was!
She is gone, now.
After living some years with a stroke,
She developed wings one day
And U__ let her fly!
(It was time to say good-bye!)
And then, there was Guy!
No silverware for him, but a sword!
He called me up one day,
After we had stayed in his trailer.
“Say, brother! I found a sword in the corner, is that yours?”
No, it wasn’t and I said so.
“Well, do you suppose it would be okay,
If I took that sword up for some prayers,
To slay the demons with?”
And I told him it would be all right,
After all, he was an old knight!
Brave Guy, who was always there,
At the front of the lines for the fight.
And Gentle Guy, who went around neighborhoods,
Planting flowers for the people.
“Plug ‘em in, to God,”
He said, with a curt nod.
As if I had known, that was his intent.
Guy, who had survived World War II,
And an injury to the head
On an aircraft carrier.
Guy, whose wife, the love of his life,
Had left him, and broken him.
Guy-Of-The-Sword, who survived all that,
Only to be felled by an overdose of Ephedra Tea.
Four states away,
I heard him dying
And I called out to God
(Have I ever told anyone this?)
…But it was too late…
Too late… how could I call to God, too late
To save my friend?
But the Will of God prevails, does it not?
And we all have our Time –
“A Time to Live, and a Time to Die”
And… speaking of Time,
I have been standing here at the sink,
For too long,
With suds dripping from my fingers,
And all…
Because…
Of a knife…
Copyright © Andrew Fairchild | Year Posted 2019
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