To an Old Friend

I get you,
the down-turned
nervous-furtive
bird glance
kid
swinging elbows back and forth,
hands dug deep in pockets,
head bowed to the shadows
you crossed
along the road.
Much has changed -
I know,
the jibber-jabber reasoning
tightened up
to a smooth, rehearsed
package of perfection,
natural, it seems,
but it ain't so.
I know you from
that middle aged man
gone round in the middle
scowls you shoot
below furrowed brow,
bullets that disarm them
before they
fire first.
I know the game
the psychology of the everyday.
It's hard,
so hard.
But remember
when you're with me
you can
please
just be yourself...