This poem is about what I think it would be like to meet Buddy Wakefield for coffee.

I can see it clicking behind his eyes

waiting for a spark

As I look at him

tracing the rim of the glass with my finger

I can see words running over the edge and

drowning in his coffee.

He looks up from his coffee at me

and widens his eyes,

“This whole world is going to get you

it’s inevitable

it’s like when you’re a kid and you believe that you can fly

so you take that bounding leap from the sofa

and suddenly realize that 

the air doesn’t have arms.”

“and that you don’t have wings”

The End

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