Poem: Rick’s Reply

Some years ago, a Saturday in Creemore, in the A.M.

I met a friend at Caroline and Mill.

We shot some bull and chewed the fat amidst the weekend mayhem.

No worries, as we both had time to kill.

So Rick, my pal the printer, worked at putting words on paper.

He was never at a loss for words himself,

And as for me, I must admit to being a wordsmith shaper.

Verbosity? We two were both top shelf.

Some twenty minutes into it across the curbs came Larry.

With Larry jokes might number in the dozens.

We’d once found out our common roots – a town in County Derry,

And since that day we’d called each other cousins.

Our banter and our badinage, our persiflage and patter,

Like badminton, but using words as birdies.

Then Larry, seeing the time, became like Wonderlands Mad Hatter

And said that we should all get off “ oor hurdies”.

He hustled heading uptown – claimed a need to tend to errands.

We watched him ‘til he disappeared from vision.

Still talking as he walked away, he dribbled verbs and gerunds,

But we were shtum. Were both above derision.

An hour later he returned and found us still there gabbing.

“My God”, he said. “have you got nothing better

To do than spend your whole day lost in blethering and blabbing.”

Ricks’ answer’s like he’d scored an empty netter.

“There’s lots of things I could be doing that truly are more pressing,

And I’ll get to them someday soon ideally.

These pressing needs have weight indeed, I shouldn’t mind confessing,

But are they better? No, I’d say. Not really.”

Now Rick and Larry both are gone before their time by cancer

And few recall the details of their labours.

What stays fixed in my memory is Ricks inspiring answer,

And wasting time with these two friends and neighbours.