My best friend
He tells me that
I shouldn't be upset
About that abortion
That I made that girl
In college get
"There is no accurate way
to count ghosts"
He says
His eyes straight ahead
His hands on the wheel
Even as my eyes grow
Heavy with tears
I know that he is right
Counting ghosts
Is a fool's holiday
Later in life
I will ask him
Questions with obvious
But nonetheless
Hard answers
Which he will usually
Answer looking
Straight ahead
With his hands on
The wheel
We speak in movie quotes
And obscure jokes
A true friends
Respite among
Normal conversation
We isolate third parties
On principle
We went to a
Concert in Baldwinsville
New York
And screamed at the
Healdiner to play
Songs from another
Band he was in
That was better than
His solo stuff
Security threatened to
Throw us out
We were high
On pills and liquor
No matter what
I trust his judgement
He has never lied
To me a day in his
Life, let alone mine
When something *****
He tells me
Which is why I trust him
But it's also why
I didn't show him this poem
I didn't want him
To disapprove
I didn't want him to
Point out all the
Obvious flaws
That are part of
My nature
And subsequently
My writing
When I am dead
Maybe I'll carve this
On a scroll of stone
So that he'll be driven
To lay in the same
Ground as myself
And there
In the wet soil
We can share
Inside jokes
And muffled laughter
Away from the dead
And the infinite