Saturday Poetry: Upon Seeing Fred in Bronze

It was the spring of year four

By then Fred was out of the luxury digs of Mt. Sinai.

We were back on Lorimer St.

He reclining

Me, as I was often during those years

Leaning in leaning over listening for news

From his body.

Aah, Fred, I said, as I counted the stitches down his torso

And brushed the medallion of skin made by his port.

Aah Fred, look at what the surgeons have gifted you

A way out, a way forward.

But not for his soul

for his waste.

Aah Fred and I leaned in closer

because now it was my turn to come to terms

with the positive and negative space of him.

Fred I said

You got you one hell of a crater.

And we laughed as we crossed that bridge.

Years later Bronze Fred stood before me:

I know you I said, how I know you.

Of course it made all the sense in the world to me that

Fred was decked out in saxophone keys

With good luck where the port used to be

Only partially clothed in splendor

Which was true during the days when wounds needed air.

The professorial specs

The eyes joined by his troublemaking grin.

I looked at Bronze Fred.

He looked at me.

We laughed.