Fish In The Sea

-Benjamin Barrett

Where were you going, old friend,

that you missed me by the station? We

even locked eyes as you waded by

through the crowded river atop

that crosswalk.

Of course, I darted my eyes away

just as you did,

and tossed my brain like a die

towards some random thought

in hopes I could forget you,

and you forget me.

Is it a mercy

to cast away such memories, stale

as age-old bread?

I guess the only thing going through our heads

was wondering if we recognized

those familiar gestures and strides

that we had learned more vividly

than any lesson at school.

Perhaps now we only broke one rule

that we had written for each other.

Time seems to have that effect

despite our days as brothers.

Now we take our leave on opposite streets

holding a sigh and wading on

through the ocean of strange faces.

After all, do we really want to know

how our stories wrote themselves?

Where do we even begin?