The Artist and a bottle

Saw him at the supermarket,
had seen him before
when he was a child, he bought two litre bottles
of plonk,
told him to buy a better quality wine,
he didn’t listen to me.
I shared a table with him and
a painter in the park,
they sat there drinking didn’t offer me any.
The artist, disturbed by our silence  
got up and began painting a tree,
red trunk, black leaves and something yellow in between,
I thought of the Belgian flag;
winter dark place, windy many canals, but the beer was good.
The artist, now famous, sold his tree moved
away and said deep things to magazines about art.
My childhood friend died; cancer it was said, but it could have
been the cheap wine.

Remembering things we did together,
always makes me feel better.
Whether I'm angry or sad
when I look back, I end up smiling.

sat down on the couch after
feeding the kits some bits
didn't know
they were addicted to it
they turned the house over
pecking for more
until they found the box
of Friskies Variety
with glazed eyed feasted  partied
meowed and purred
when I took it away they
big eyed slurred mmmen wow
and ganged up
on me
with such sorry big eyed looks
I said here
emptied the box
on the counter
been there done that
I said

Time is the Healer
Of all Wounds
Except the Wounds
Caused by Time