This poem is inspired by an elegantly simple recounting of what is a true friend, as told by my former wife — that is, when you are walking with a group of people, the one who stops and waits for you when you have to tie your shoelaces.
Walking the Walk [Owed to My Friend Tarry]
Weave got
Places to go
People to see
Things too due
Talking the talk
Walking that walk
And still
My posse
I found myself
At one’s knee
My shoe unfastened
Learning that benchmark
Of a true friend
Who cools won’s heels
And bides one’s time
Near my sole
