Tuesday, November 08, 2011

The Good Doctor

I think of those days
fondly.

It was the beginning of the new millennium
It was the apartment next to the Sorority house
It was Berkeley


I had moved in with a good friend.

We bonded the way men bond,

over music
over alcohol
over girls.

there was communism and machetes
there was bar tending and paintings
there was golden eye and pornography
there was bitterest taste of Israeli cigarettes

at the end of it all he
was like a brother.

i expected to know him for life.
the way you expect your
teeth to last forever.

Eventually
I left Berkeley,
He left Berkeley

He became a doctor
like:
Doolittle
Seuss
Doom

and
I became lost
down my own path to salvation.

We haven't seen each other in years.

There are times I put pride aside
and ask to see him.

There are polite exchanges,
and plans.

Plans that carry as much weight as mist.
As much weight as apparitions.
(the ghost of our younger selves)

And yes, this wounds
my pride.

Yet,
I don't think of those days any less fondly.
This is just the way it is.

Time will heal this.
Some wounds heal
without a doctor.


11'

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