He sat behind me
At dinner
Unobtrusively
So quietly I didn't
Couldn't
Notice
He was there

Until
The music started
A melody
I hadn't heard
In months,
Days,
Years
My favorite
So I turned away from
The conversation
And listened
Intently
To the Broadway magic
That brought me
Back
To times gone by

I missed
This
The music of my childhood
It is a type of magic
Like any song
I suppose, but
Special
At least to me

That violinist
Behind me at dinner
Continued to play my
Memories
For me
And returned me to
Happiness

My head
Is spinning
As I try to
Understand
The messages
Swirling around the room

Honestly,
Who thought it was a
"Good Idea"
To put one hundred
One hundred
Teenagers in a small room
And let them talk?

Does anyone think anymore?

These conversations
Are full of inanities,
Mundanities
There is nothing of
Consequence,
Just iPhones,
Snapchat,
Instagram.
Who decided
That ANY of this
Was in ANY WAY
A "Good Idea"?

You've been like
The sun
My parent
To me
All these years
So what will I
The weak green
Plant
Or the small helpless
Child
Do, now that you're
Gone.
Do you worry like I do?
That our friendship will fade
Into infrequent
Texts?
And more infrequent visits?
That's what I worry
Will happen next year
When I'm far away
And you're left alone
With no one to
Listen
Or know
When you need
Someone.