lunch

He wasn’t an alcoholic.
Alcoholism was for the weak.
He was just a Southern boy
that liked cold beer-
enough to take it with him
everywhere he went.

Best friends
since they were 11,
she didn’t feel the need to argue
about it or make any points.

Quite honestly, she was proud
that alcohol was the only salve
he'd chosen to soothe
all those wounds.

They hadn't met
when his Mama died-
but he told her about reading Mama stories in their old oak bed
while she battled the demons of cancer.
When she was gone, he didn’t cry.
His Mama had cried plenty enough for the both
of them, realizing the monster
she was leaving 'em with.

Time goes on and
a boy becomes a man.
Years of friendship
finally reach their fulfillment
in the smoldering heat of a slow
summer afternoon.

It only makes them softer.
Answers all the questions
that neither had the courage to ask.

But he loves cold beer.
She wants steadiness for her children.
Today she sat
with her feet in his lap
his hands placed softly around her ankles.
He’s gonna be a Daddy.
The wedding is in three weeks.
They finish their lunch.
She asks about names, morning sickness, wedding aperitifs.

Hugs him bye, kisses his forehead, kisses each cheek-
Implores him to send
the new mother her warmest congratulations.
He whispers .....‘I will, I will’.