We haven’t spoken in a while,
But you are not forgotten, you
Know that, how could you be,
When the inner monologue,
The constant play of allusion and forgetting
Inevitably leads to you
Friend for fair and foul weather.
Our age is so superior –
Liberated, emancipated, yet cannot
Conceive of love in any form
But sex. Its dirty Freudian mind
Staking a claim in mental space
Has turned to children, our future
The price gladly paid for an erection.
The ancients thought friendship better
They wrote about it a lot –
And it is true in some ways
That a friend is better than a lover.
A lover wants us to be beautiful and clever
And putting us through our paces,
If we jump too slowly, will tire.
A poor performance means they are
At fault. Inadequacy is unacceptable.
Better, while there’s time to act
Better a messy divorce, the courts
The children aphasic, better by far
Than languishing in the same bed
A friend wants you to be beautiful and clever
Because you are. Working through the heart
He sees the soul. Friendship is a welcoming a home
Coming. Love is an easy word
To drop. Let me say affinities.
In affinities there is fine
Finitude, finesse, infinity, refined
All these can encompass friendship
Not define it. It can only be lived
Like cricket or art or sex;
Though unlike the above, it cannot,
In any of the possible worlds,
Be a solitary pleasure.
So let us raise a glass
To friendship in all its guises
To companionship, camaraderie
Cronyness, matyness, to chicks with chicks
And guys with guys, locker-room pals:
Each in its way a small parcel
Of a potential better world.