Old Friend
We walked down the old railroad tracks
when the rest of the town was asleep.
I waited winter after winter to see
the stream you both talked about,
but we’d only ever visit it in the heart of summer.
We didn’t care about anything
except music, making messes, and sleepovers.
Old Friend,
I still remember you.
We walked home together after school once
on a day with blue skies as beautiful as us.
You showed me a shortcut I’d never before journeyed.
Your bubblegum pink shoes contrasted
against the lime green grass as they walked past
old churches, vast fields, and questionable suburbs
with me, your old friend.
Old Friend,
I still remember you.
We walked away from each other
indirectly, unknowingly at the time.
You desired to keep me a secret,
and you descended downward instead,
choosing an old friend who pushed you around
and pissed you off
like the times your mom and your brothers
smoked pot in the basement
and would pretend you didn’t have a clue.
They left you behind the way you left me behind.
I desired to take steps toward brighter things,
things that were
yellow
and
white,
your favorite colors.
Old Friend,
I still remember you.