While I was walking to catch a ferry home -  
 it was leaving in ten minutes -
 I ran into a former friend;
 someone who I pulled the plug on
 a couple of years ago:
 the friendship wire frayed from
 denial and disrepair.
 
 as always, his dress was casually prosperous 
 and well-ironed,
 though a bit strained under some
 extra weight;
 his curly hair set in place
 with product,
 his eyes tired and porcine.
 
 we shook hands a bit too forcefully,
 with the illusion of enthusiasm,
 as if nothing had gone down
 between us.
 
 I asked him about his succession of jobs;
 yes, every one continued to have a villain who
 didn’t appreciate his value.
 they all started with promise, but ended badly.
 he is presently unemployed and collecting again.
 
 girlfriends?
 a couple of instant soul mates,
 but nothing lasting,
 they all have emotional problems.
 presently single, but looking.
 
 he bought a new Beemer last year -
posted it on Valentine's Day -
 before his latest job termination,
 still lives in a small rental in town,
 planning to buy a house of his own when…
 
 his mom’s still hemorrhaging his inheritance - 
always nothing but the best -
 in the best assisted-living facility,
 still alive at ninety-seven,
 though she doesn’t recognize him when
 he visits every couple of months;
 he is relieved that mom doesn’t recognize 
 his sister either, who visits every day.
 he’s gotten a lawyer to protect 
 what’s coming to him.
 
nothing’s changed.
 
 didn’t have much time to answer
 what about you?
 with more than:
 still married, still working, still living in our same home;
 but we adopted a rescue dog from Arkansas.
 
 hearing the ferry announced I said
 gotta go.
 
 quickly shook his hand and
 walked away before the inevitable:
 let’s-get-together
 or
 what happened?
 
 don’t remember what caused the unplugging,
 probably was a bunch of small things
 that gnawed at the cable;
 only knew that the wires were 
 beyond repair. 

 
 controllers
 on the tube
 

 this junk itself as
                         sex
 

 mechanical       in the beginning
 the illusion
       then language
                dictates
 what we see hear smell
 

 sell shill
 sham honor among fools
 

 unbelievable voices
             never stopping
 will not shut up
 

 authenticating existence - 
              but whose?
              yours? theirs? mine?
 

 you never know what to expect
 so locked up, safe in the shadows
 

 without surprise
 

 listening for train whistles
 smelling burning leaves            

 Squawks of hungry birds
 echo in the lifeless trees,
 gestures of
 desperation and
 broken promises. 

 Dreams turn to folly
 with the mistaken conviction
 that the magic of arrival
 does not require
 the burden of obligation.