Yes, There Will Be Riots

There's too much to say because so much time has passed. They look at one another, amazed, and they lie. You haven't changed at all, they both say but, of course, they have changed! They've aged, lost hair and muscle tone, they've thickened or slackened. Time's march. It will sadden him later, the difference between then and now.

Haven't I missed you, dreamed about you? Tell me everything, fill me in on all the days that have past since I last saw you? Who were you with? What did you see?

Some three thousand days. There's too much to say and so they say nothing. There have been dreams in which there had been this silence. In one, they grappled. In another, one poured a bath. No words were spoken.

Oh, dread. Time's march. Yes, there will be riots somewhere and injustices, car accidents, good and bad weather. Turn around and look behind you and time stretches out, your long shadow with everything in it, and somewhere in all of it he is sitting on a bench, holding a golf club and softly beating the dirt with it, and there are his knees which you will never forget, ever.