Word for Word

Contributed by Ryan Camuto | gargoyle@flagler.edu

I once had a friend, he was like an open book.
A musical score if I may
but he was blank,
a page without a single mark.
Clean, crisp, craving my ramblings with such reception.
It was in him I confided every ounce of my mind,
after such a moment he would just look,
and my open book friend knew
exactly what I meant.

His company though, those men and women
from head to toe were completely incomprehensible.
Not a word or utterance sunk into me.
And though all were related to one another, my friend knew me
and I him
And yet I hadn’t a clue about his fraternal brothers
Much older and wiser and more well read then either he or I.

I read these men word for indecipherable word, swallowing salt with every utterance.
As their words faded in specificity my dismissal of them was impossible.

I raged into my friend with such sincere vulgarity
but all I see is that he just repeated me.
Word for word
Line for line.
But I forgive him because that’ is what he must do.
I cannot forgive his consorts, in all of their vile vulger words.

I
Suppose
These men were once the blank face friends of
some other arthritis inflicted people
and in years to come,
after I am gone
I will be survived by my friend.
He will tell my inner most thoughts to some new eye
who will look at him and just think
“What a vile, incomprehensible man.”