For Oli

There was that time at Cowgirl
(and how many West Village stories start like that?)
when Jack Friedman,
ever the gentleman,
suggested spinning bottles
as a way of getting at Ali’s chest.

And Heinz pointed to you
and our eyes were locked and careful

and I passed within a hair’s breath
of giving you my first kiss.

But our lips they never touched–
you kept mum and gracefully
our gaze unclutched

while Jack’s best laid plans went bust.

I thank you for that,
in the formal, metered fashion

and watch your love of Sondheim’s wolves
write across my simulacrum.

Funny how the stars are flung–
how one sun births another

until the gears somehow align

and the distance comes asunder.

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One Comment on “For Oli”

  1. Rob Snyder says:

    You brought a tear to my eye with such a beautiful poem.
    But then again, I always knew you would be a man of words.


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