The sunset falls behind the cloud,
The mountains hide its dying ray.
A moose behind me snorts aloud
As if to summarize its day
I ponder too about the day
And of a friend, the same.
I do not quite recall the way
He used to like to spell his name.
Before each end there is a start
As normal fate is rather scary.
We lived some city blocks apart
Yet first met in elementary.
Memory is a blur of thought,
Size and shape and wisps of air.
I remember how we fought.
I stuck pink gum into his hair.
High school comes and things change more
He usually still came out ahead.
For band tour he slept on the floor,
Greg would not let him share a bed.
Card tricks quicker than the eye
Is what he used to do for show.
He claimed he made them up but why
He showed me them I do not know.
I think he plays a sport that?s called
By ?baseball? or some other name.
He claims to pitch but throws like old
Pitchers in a bush-league game.
This poem I know is much too long,
But I will end it anyway.
The moose behind me grunts, ?So long.?
I pack up and will no longer stay.