White Solo

The work of AK.


Best Friend

Best Friend
- AK (2003)

He passes through the transparent doors
silently. He is walking home,
past the aged playground,
the coarse brown grass laced with snow.
I watch as he goes by the school
bus in the chill March air. Gasoline
and new spring awaits him.

I remain inside with
the paste and chalk dust,
in the bland gathering outside
both church and classroom.
My throat tightens,
my face is wet. The tears
are sour in my mouth.

They are like nori prepared by his mother.
She was always in the kitchen while we played games.
Cheers came from the computer
and his father entered the house.
They needed to eat, and I needed to leave.

I begin my slow journey in
the chill March air. Stones
fly from my feet.
Cars zoom
by and I look both ways.
I see the stop sign in the corner of my eye.


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