A neighbor, a casual wave
and a returning smile. Meeting at the
mailbox where we exchange the same questions we asked when we last met: The
game, yeah those damn turkeys, the kids, poker and muscles aches. I
drive by his place and of course can’t help but realize the absence; the final absence and then a strange
type of guilt for simply being and then that realization that follows death; no
matter what, wishes, prayers, pining and all the magic in the universe will not
have him return. A casual wave and returning smile- my memory of Brian
Wick. (And the last poker game where he
kicked all our asses)
g
