We buried Tommy.
I delivered the eulogy.
"It was thirty-one years ago. I called, and Tommy had come.
Hi Ted, quiet-like, but sounding like something solid,as I opened the door. What're we doin', as he assayed my worldly belongings spread out on the bed.
Gotta pack up and leave right now, before Laird gets back. I'm outta here.
This it, Tom asks. Yeah. And its all got to fit in that trunk over there.
Tom methodically inspected the load and proceeded to efficiently pack everything into the steamer. He was done in ten minutes.
I was in awe - it generally took me an hour and three tries to get it all in. I looked at Tom - you can pack my trunk any time you want.
Tommy had come.
Tommy stayed."
YOU ARE READING
Love in all its Colours
Poetrya spectrum of deeply felt personal relationships, of meaningful selflessness and reciprocity "not always pretty not always fun not just for the young"
