you say I was right
and you regret everything
you want to talk
but somehow never do
always a mystery
even when you’re transparent
to say I’m sorry
is an understatement
but the life you lead now
was your own doing
choices made
cannot be retracted
and the consequences one pays
are on the other side
of the balance sheet
I’ve no idea what you expect
from me anymore
whatever I felt
was used up long ago
and there’s only a hole
you left in my heart
that I’ve learned to live with
there’s no one here
on this end of the line
that you’d recognize
and wherever you knew me
is not where I am
any longer
other writing
on roads taken: for David
we met on a bench
during orientation for transfer students
you picked me to talk to
because I was the only other person
wearing bellbottom jeans
that was the beginning of our brotherhood
and our roads
though different
continue to overlap
through time
shared music
a fondness for whiskey
and once
in another time zone
we shared a house in LA
picked because it had enough bedrooms
for the various people we carried with us
and a wet bar
which was essential
in our eyes
my brother
how is it we
of two opposite personalities
have remained so close
without tension
even during all those pool games
with only one argument
over my driving
settled when you refused
to get out of the car
a thousand years ago
my brother
we sealed our fates
and traveled rocky roads
connected in ways
we don’t fully understand
there have been women
some whose names we no longer recall
boating on a lake
drinking in sleazy Hollywood bars
you backing me up
when my mouth moved faster
than my brain
there were those weekly dinners
in your trailer
my various apartments
rain on rooftops
corn rustling in the wind
my dog romping in a field
as you egged him on
listening to you play
in clubs, in bars, at colleges
charting your life in song
as I sorted out mine
on paper
brothers in word and deed
and finally last summer
as I accompanied you
on your spiritual journey
to your ancestral home
we both knew
it could be no other way
the two of us
in a car
driving into sunsets
Cisco and Pancho
forever
no hollywood movie: a tanka: for JM
life is no movie
there’s no Hollywood ending
on your silver screen
just dead flowers, stale candy
a walk in deserted parks
things of value: for Steve
we both have said
at various times in our lives
there were things of value
and the trick was knowing
just which things they were
and so we find
old friend
the things we leave behind
are not always what we discard
but grow instead
in our hearts
stronger than before
if that were even possible
and sight
old friend
is not always done with our eyes
the heart sees better
and years do not dim it
so as our bodies fumble
in the dark
our breath grows shorter
the arms no longer able to carry
the weight they once held
we still
old friend
remain connected
ten thousand miles
cannot break that bond
too many decades have come and gone
too many miles traveled together
up and down and across
two continents
we closed too many restaurants
watched fireworks over two oceans
driven or rode or flown
over too much territory
climbed a glacier
stood on mountains
seen our share of whales
there have been too many crabs eaten
too much wine drunk
too many glasses of brandy shared
and so much trouble
we talked our way into
and out of
over these many, many years
Bill Mohr once said
seeing us together for the first time
as you helped me assemble a gas barbecue
in my backyard
that he understood why
we were such good friends
more like brothers
your father called us a vaudeville team
and we did routines
to amuse ourselves
more than anyone else
in countless states
in foreign countries
and though I know your eyes
my eyes
have watered of late
these thousands of miles
these long years now
keeping us from laughing
at our own jokes
rest assured
old friend
our vaudeville days are not over
and since you can no longer
make the trip alone
I promise
old friend
I’ll be there yet
one morning
exile’s letter: after Li Bai: for Gene
the candle flickers
the glass empties itself
the wind rustles the flag outside my window
and my thoughts are with you
old friend
you put aside my book to write
to tell me of your heart
memories, you say
of what and who we were, are
you ask when will I return
my company, you say
you sorely miss
I see you
old friend
in a picture on my shelf
your beard now grey
I think
and your hair thin
much like mine
not like in LA
the car ride up Topanga Canyon
at two in the morning
to see a woman we both loved
you huddled on the floor in back
while I drove one-handed
a bottle of scotch in the other
we were crazy then
but somehow survived
you long to hold me close
you say
and I, too, cling to air
we need to share a glass
old friend
let Steve watch us drink ourselves to God
and when the bottle empties
there will be another to uncork
and you and I and Steve
old friend
will retell stories
of pregnant ladies with axes
of Shakespeare in the park
of Leo’s potato salad
of the silence between cuts
and we will laugh
old friend
till the sun peeks through the curtains
and warms the world
once again
fade to black
footsteps in the hallway
whispers in the dark
an extended empty hand
a back turns slowly
a door closes
blinds drawn against the sun
sighs like thunder
tears like rain
there are no tomorrows
only yesterdays
those ah ha moments
sometimes you’re reading a book
or watching a movie
or there’s a scene from a play
where a character says something
that strikes you as so appropriate
to what’s going on in your life
that you go ah ha
just like that
and lights flash
bells ring
and the fog
if there is one
lifts
and thanks to a movie
this time
I had an ah ha moment
and so see clearly
what there is to see
and so know
what there is to know
once again
saturday morning: a haiku
walking in the rain
thankfully there are no holes
in my leather soles
on holding patterns
try to stay awake
that’s the plan anyway
and so there is movement
drinks in a bar
dinner in a dimly lit place
conversation vague enough
to be mildly interesting
but not revealing
the face attractive
the body appealing
there is a warmth here
that could soothe an aching heart
this is keeping the ghosts at bay
and the present present
in a life in a holding pattern
waiting for that special someone
who may never appear
to talk of books and poetry
theatre and film
of living a life of meaning
beyond the balance sheet
of things that really matter
not safe but dangerously alive
instead of just killing time
trying to find a way
to coast home
life, again
when all else fails
there’s always life
coming along to surprise you
it could be some gesture
a spoken word, or two
perhaps the touch of a friend
or someone not so friendly
a flood in the neighborhood
power shortages
a voice from the heavens
or someplace farther south
or maybe someone seen
in a different light
you know, something you didn’t expect
good or bad or indifferent
but you’re stopped short
breath held
there on the precipice
whatever balance you thought you achieved
is now called into question
go or stay
throw all caution to the proverbial winds
this business called life
suddenly changes
and whatever rules applied before
no longer matter
it is a new day
or maybe evening
and all you have are what’s left of your wits
so saddle up, partner
whatever it is
it’s begun
Leonard Durso 