I walked into a café.
I heard the man say,
“To you sir a good day.”
“And to you my good man.”
Stroking my beard, I started to scan,
for where my friend would stand.
Together we would laugh and play
in that open field where the sky was never gray.
And the grass was green all day.
I remember the tree in the corner.
I remember the creek on the side.
I found a strange rock.
And about it we began to talk.
“I want you to have it.”
“No you found it, it’s yours.”
“We should share it.”
“I’ll bury it here. Never forget.”
To be a kid again one day,
is to see it end the same way.
And I heard the man say,
“Will your friend be joining you again today?”
“Not today, maybe another day?”