poem

 ReunionBy a fluke of circumstances I was able to meet up for lunch at a trendy downtown brasserie with my past self and future self.  We didn ’t know what else to do. Neutral territory, I guess.  Have a few drinks. Break the ice. The comfort of knowing there would be a well defined end. Split the bill, I assumed.  I certainly wasn ’t inviting them tomyhouse. Act like they owned the place. Drink all my wine. Make fun of my shoes. Try to f. my wife. Golf was out too.  Past self played to a 10 handicap but I hadn ’t swung a club in years.  Future self didn ’t like his chances, given current trends. We thought about meeting at my old childhood neighborhood.  Walk around the black top streets like three weirdos, shooting the shit, cracking a few jokes, getting all caught up, remaining reasonably sane. Future self lagging slightly behind, unfamiliar with this terrain. But past self said that wouldn ’t work either.  The closer he gets to his beginning the more unstable he becomes. He starts shape shifting.  One minute a 10 year old boy sniffing the leather of his old hand me down baseball glove, the next a lonely 19 year old calling dollar a minute singles want ads from his father ’s office phone, turn your head for a shake and then he’d be a 4 year old boy lumbering around a yard with a giant yellow plastic bat bothering all the adults at the party to pitch to him then transforming into a 23 year old ex-frat boy with a cop...

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - June 27, 2022 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs