Sunday Afternoon

The last time I talked to him
was nothing special
No surprise there

(we didn’t know it would be the last time)

I went to the old house on Birchmore Street
and we sat on the front porch
drinking beer and watching fireflies float on the breeze
He asked about my work
like he always did
I answered
then we just gazed out at the night

That’s it
(or at least all I have to say)
Not long after
I said goodbye and drove home

Later
as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling
I found myself thinking;
thinking about all the times
that I spent wishing;
wanting time to pass;
looking at my watch
and saying I had to go

Now
when light fades
and shadows grow long

I find myself thinking
wishing
and knowing
that I’d give anything
to be on that porch again

 

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