I would write the story of forever,
beginning when all things begin
but I would change enough
that we would all be standing in the sun.
I have watched you and you may not remember
that I held your hand and called for help
when I found you vomiting
after filling your veins with so much poison.
Today you asked me for a cigarette
and, I hope understandably,
I recoiled from you
in fright of the anger in your face.
You called me a snob and responded to my reticence
by throwing coins at me,
and it made me laugh
but this was mostly from discomfort.
I am no more then you
an old Irish ‘there but for the grace of God’.
I know what it is too be used up
and worn to nothing by the harshness of life.
It would be nice if everything was easy
but plenty of us cannot sleep at night
it is just a matter of perspective
measuring one hurt against another.
I would write the story of forever
where these smaller hurts were everything
and we could all weep about mostly nothing
and pretend that our nothings were what mattered.