Copyright © 2018 by Marvin Cohen

Since Jimmy Stagno just died, where
does that leave me? Missing him. That's the way things
go, when a lifelong friendship of eighty five years is broken
and destroyed with the remaining one helplessly ready to
carry on conversation as usual, but without the uniquely
irreplaceable dialogue partner. All their mutual references
accumulated over the decades now suddenly untouched,
unconfirmed, discontinued, barren. I'm left holding the bag
-- the whole contents of which are pouring down drainage.
The seeds of furtherness drowned out forever by an abrupt
severance of two partners into that eternal division that
inflames the weak survivor's leaking head with leftover vital
points unaddressed and turned rancidly fallow, would-be.
The cow's milk-leaking udders at the flaccid helpless shattered
lips of her calf's early corpse hours in a meadow that carries
on as usual with successful others of their slow-moving species,
however the weather may vary that scene of many locations.