My poems were like old friends

fallen on hard times.

They were standing around

in a vacant lot

between two old houses,

I drove up in my shiny car.

They recognized me

and came over

draped in their old clothes.

We were all embarrassed.

The car purred

like the promise of leaving.

I said a few words

and they smiled

but with a little irony

or maybe pain.

I said

I’ll see you round.

They said

we’ll be here.