My Friend Bill

I let him mourn too long,
It was my mistake,
I thought I would be generous,
Understanding, forgiving,
Be not letting him forget so easily.

They all told him
To move on and find another
I felt I was the only one
Who understood,
That there would be no other
Like her, for him.

So I said to Bill it was okay
Okay to feel sorry and to cry
If he wanted to stay alone,
Sleep in and not go out,
Fine by me, I understood.

He stayed in and never came out,
Unless it was with a bottle in his hand
Of something strong smelling
With a burning taste,
All I can ever take to make the pain
Surrender and go away, he said,
Between sips and gulps.

I told him that it was now time to stop mourning,
But the dirge was still playing
The ladies of the house were still screaming
And Bill had only just begun.

Published by Benjamin Nardolilli

A little bit about myself, I am a twenty four year old writer currently living in Arlington, Virginia. My work has appeared in Houston Literary Review, Perigee Magazine, Canopic Jar, Lachryma: Modern Songs of Lament, Baker’s Dozen, Thieves Jargon, Farmhouse Magazine, Elimae, Poems Niederngasse, Gold Dust, The Delmarva Review, Underground Voices Magazine, SoMa Literary Review, Heroin Love Songs, Shakespeare’s Monkey Revue, Cantaraville, and Perspectives Magazine. In addition I was the poetry editor for West 10th Magazine at NYU and maintain a blog at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com. Thanks for reading

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