Friend.
I went by your old place on West 26th Street
Your name was no longer on the buzzer.  I pushed it anyway.
When an Asian woman answered  I knew you were gone.
Nobody coming out of the building seemed to remember you
Just goes to show.

I went by the old diner at which we used to eat
Same handwritten signs, same menus
Same old tables.
But no you.

I found it strange that the waitress remembered me but couldn't remember
The guy who'd been going there for decades.
Maybe I should have brought a photo
To spark her memory
Maybe I should have reached out to you,
Bitten the bullet and swallowed my pride
Because now the fight seems trivial
Its the rest of the stuff that seems important,

All the good stuff we shared.

People used to sew patches on old jeans and put new soles
on favorite shoes.
Modern life has changed.  We throw things out and buy new.
But some things are irreplaceable.
They are worth the effort a repair would require.
Friend.
My friend.