A friend of mine is going through a tough time. If anyone deserves NOT a tough time, it’s her. And yet it’s bad, bad enough to make you think that God is real, and he’s as evil and conniving as The Leprechaun.
Friend, here’s a poem I wrote about you a few years ago. There’s a bit about your oldest son in here, too. I dunno, maybe it’ll make you feel a little better to know I once thought of you and was compelled enough to express my feelings on paper.
I read this aloud once, right in front of you, at A Rrose in a Prose. You might not have caught the subject matter at hand, but I think you might’ve…
P.S. I just realized there is some inconsistent poetic punctuation stuff going on in this version of the poem. I’m feeling too lazy to go back and fix the image. So, friend, I ask your forgiveness.
